


The Code of Ethics

by HQK



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Anger against no blaster control, Blaster Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Kylo Ren Angst, Kylo Ren Has Issues, Kylo Ren Needs a Hug, Kylo Ren is a Mess, Kylo Ren is the biggest virgin, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Mental Illness, NSFW, No one knows anything about mental illness, Not canon compliant with the events in the force awakens, Not really though, POV Second Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, Psychological Trauma, Psychology, Reader is a psychologist, Reader is not technically Kylo's doctor, Reader is treating the stormtroopers, Reader-Insert, Smut will be added in later chapters, also reader is force sensitive, depictions of schizophrenia, non canon compliant ending, only like empathetic mind reading and such, she can't use it physically, so no doctor patient relationships, this is basically one huge allegory for the american mental health system, will add more tags later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-04-27 01:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14414283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HQK/pseuds/HQK
Summary: It was an age old debate, but you had never seen a better example. He was the perfect argument for Nature versus Nurture, constantly fighting between who he was and what he had been raised to be. But, you couldn’t tell which side he stood on, and it seemed as though he couldn’t either.*A story in which you revolutionize the mental health field and fall in love with the most fucked up boy in the galaxy*





	1. Introductions and Applicability: Article One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "When you aren't satisfied with what has already been done, make something better. That is the greatest responsibility and the true freedom of creativity. The freedom is in that it doesn't need to complain.”  
> ― Criss Jami, Killosophy James

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin with a girl, a ship, and something far bigger.

The spaceport was deserted. Except for a handful of miscellaneous travelers, you were alone. You had only been here once before, when you’d arrived at the University. This made the finality of your departure, which wove itself into the cold air that blew around the port, all the more apparent.

You could still recall how the sky looked on the day you had first come. It was dark, covered in slate grey clouds. Not dark from the weight of rain but stained from the ages of industrialization. Pollution had eaten away all the green from this planet and blue from its sky a long time ago. But today, only a few of the smoky clouds remained and there were rays of sunshine breaking through. You continued on your way through the platforms, breathing in the scent of fuel and exhaust. 

A few yards away, a man in an expensive suit talked hurriedly into a comlink. Opposite from him, a woman sporting the University crest was seated on a bench, holding a briefcase close to her chest. Neither paid you any mind as you crossed the plated, steel floor to the boarding platform listed on your holopass. 

Your heels made a satisfying click that echoed in the cavernous room as you pulled your two suitcases along behind you, coming to a stop next to the man with the suit. He remained silent, not bothering to offer a greeting, as you placed your luggage on the ground. 

The sound of a ship entering the station prompted you to glance up as a small passenger liner landed at the docking site. You hoped it was your flight, but the craft bore no allegiancy symbols, and you doubted the First Order would have sent a neutral ship. Your suspicions were confirmed when the man, still talking into the comlink, quickly boarded along with the few other various passengers milling about. 

The wind whipping through the open port ceiling blew your hair from the pins holding it in place. You tucked it behind your ears and fixed the button on your blazer against the chill. It was just you and the woman now. 

She shivered from her place on the bench and glanced over at you, “A bit chilly out, isn’t it?” she asked. 

“Just a bit,” you offered politely. She glanced at down at your suitcases curiously. 

“Not leaving us, are you?” 

She spoke as if she knew you, which was not uncommon. The Psychology department was a small one and most of its residents were well-known by the other staff. It’s existence alone was a source of interest for many of the other departments.

“I’m afraid so,” you said.

“Finally got an offer then, I suppose.”

“Yes.” Your lack of conversational skills was becoming more and more apparent, though she seemed not to mind. 

“That's wonderful,” she smiled warmly, “I hope it's good enough to warrant us losing you.”

“I do too.” 

An airbus landed before she could respond further and the woman scrambled to collect her things before crossing the few feet between the two of you. 

“Good luck, make us proud” she said, holding out her hand.

There it was again: “us”. The people here spoke like that often. Always referring to the University as a collective. One in which you were not included. Smiling anyway, you took her proffered hand and shook it quickly. She dashed off to board her own flight and left you completely alone in the station. You watched her ship take off till one of the few clouds obscured it from view.

A familiar feeling began building in your stomach as you stood, staring up into the sky. 

You’d felt the urge for awhile now. A persistent calling to clear the ground, to gaze out and see nothing but stars ahead. Perhaps it was in an attempt to quell this longing that you had accepted the First Order’s offer. 

You had already come to the conclusion that it was not for the money. Although the salary your new position promised was no small sum, you had decided to take the job far before the subject of payment had been discussed. 

It would be nice to say you were doing this solely based on moral principle: dropping everything to provide aid and become a pioneer in your field. You were, after all, among the few involved with the University’s psychological studies to take work outside of the institution’s private research. Not to mention, you were most likely the first to actually put that research into practice for such a large outside organization….or at all. 

But it was not for any of these reasons that you had agreed to become the head of the First Order’s Psychiatric department. Which was not to say that none of those things held stock in your decision. Of course, they did. You highly valued this opportunity to better the knowledge available for others in your field. However, the true motivation for your actions was rooted in something far less concrete. 

It was the dreams. 

You’d been having them for weeks now. That was usually how it started. They were always the same and made little sense, objectively. You would wake every morning with only vague half-rememberings and a lingering feeling of anticipation. Over time, the dreams became so vivid, it was hard to distinguish them from the waking world, sometimes even leaving physical marks on your body. This had happened only a few times in your life, but previous experience taught you to trust the visions. 

In this dream, you stood in the middle of open space, stars stretching on indefinitely. Off in the distance a pulsating, red light shone in the nothing. A dying sun, collapsing in on itself. 

You walked towards it, and as you got closer, the air filled with a violent crackling, electric and dangerous. The light would begin to take shape in the form of a human figure. It burned unevenly at the edges, like flame eating the darkness. 

The fiery glow of its arm extended in your direction. It had no face or mouth, but you could feel it pleading with you. You could feel it begging for your hand, as if your touch could alleviate the immense pressure of gravity which threatened to crush it into a supernova. You reached out desperately towards it, trying to save it from destruction, but just as your hands were about to touch, you awoke. 

You stared up to the ceiling, arm outstretched in the darkness of your bedroom and an afterimage of a red figure burned into your vision, only to lay awake for the rest of the night afterwards.

Finding yourself filled with the urge to leave your small apartment and continue the path towards the light from your dream became a recurring norm. You tried to blame this intense need on the stagnation of your prospects at the University. Conveniently, this was the perfect excuse to undertake new work for the First Order. Not that you hadn’t found trepidation in offer. 

As a general rule, you liked to stay out of the war as much as possible. This included any dealings with the Resistance or the First Order, and was part of the reason why you had remained so long at your current position. The University had managed to remain neutral, mostly due to its location and status a major academic planet. In fact, you would have never even considered taking the job if it had not been for the fervent voice in your head that urged you forward, towards the fiery figure you had seen every night for weeks, pushing you closer to finding the meaning. 

It was roughly two months ago--and three weeks after the dreams had started--when the representatives from the First Order approached you. Three of them walked into your lab in the early morning, two men and one woman, all dressed in pressed, black military uniforms. 

“I’m Lieutenant Sato of the First Order,” the woman said, “and this is Private First Class Haines and Murren.” She gestured to each of the men flanking her, respectively. You introduced yourself, inquiring as to their business in the University.

“We spoke with the head of your department and he gave us your name. The First Order would like to offer you a position on board the facilities of our headquarters, Starkiller Base.” she announced, as though she were offering you an immense privilege. Haines and Murren nodded silently. 

“I suppose you should come sit down then,” You led them into your tiny office, where Lieutenant Sato took a seat, but her cohorts remained standing. She got straight to business, placing a thick, bound contract on your desk. 

She explained that they had come with orders from General Hux, himself, who was in need of a clinical psychologist to head their newly instated Psychiatric Department. The First Order Stormtroopers were the cause of this decision. It appeared as though he was under a significant amount of pressure from the head of the Medical Wing focused on influx of ‘troopers admitted for increasingly odd symptoms. Hallucinations, violent outbursts, and insomnia chief among them.

It was heavily implied that hiring you was a ‘last ditch’ effort to cure this epidemic that was eating through their troops faster than they could be replaced. You could tell that even the people as advanced as the First Order were extremely skeptical when it came to psychology. 

This fact alone awoke a burning desire to prove the validity of your practice, but the case presented to you sparked a fair amount of curiosity as well. 

You had read about the Stormtrooper Program in many of your courses and had spent ample amounts of your free time studying it. Its relevance to many psychological debates was fascinating to you. Not to mention what a fascinating thesis paper you could write based on it. A chance to examine it up close was hard to pass up. Despite this, you told them you’d need some time to think it over, but truthfully, you’d known the second they’d walked in the door that you would say yes.The night before they came, the dream had been so much more vivid. The flaming figure was closer than ever before, your fingertips just barely brushing before you woke up. The urge had not dissipated that whole day and had only grown in intensity when the officers met with you. 

This solidified that it was an opportunity you could not pass up. 

Over the next two months, you completed your current project with the University and presented them with your leave of absence for research purposes. You spent the time until you were scheduled to leave for Starkiller Base reading through all the medical records sent to you by General Hux and forming a detailed schedule. This way, you could start work immediately upon arrival at the Base. 

These plans and all the notes you had taken concerning your new position were safely packed into the leather messenger bag currently hanging over your shoulder. Another gust of wind ruffled your hair and you gazed up. A third ship was landing, this time marked clearly with the First Orders red and black insignia. You took a deep breath and made your way over to the docking area. There was a hiss as the gangway was lowered and the three officers from before stepped off, flanked by two ‘troopers in white armor. 

“Good afternoon, Doctor.” Lieutenant Sato greeted you and walked forward to offer her hand.

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant.” you took her hand, giving it a firm shake, “Shall we be off?”  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the beginning of a project I started quite a while ago. I've absolutely fallen in love with some of the amazing (and novel length) Kylo reader inserts, and this is me finally getting down an idea that's been rattling around in my brain for months. I plan on posting updates every two to three weeks, as I already have a lot of this written out. The goal is not to fall behind on that schedule so cross your fingers. Thank you so much for reading!


	2. Introductions and Applicability: Article Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “As a child I felt myself to be alone, and I am still, because I know things and must hint at things which others apparently know nothing of, and for the most part do not want to know.”-Carl Jung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, we saw our beloved doctor about to take the next step in her journey to the infamous Starkiller Base. What will become of her once she's entered into the clutches of the First Order? Will she find her place among the same organization she's spent her whole life avoiding? Will the writer be late with the next update? All this and more in the next installment!

“Of course. If you’ll follow me please,” 

The Lieutenant beckoned you forward and the two stormtroopers made to take your suitcases. 

“Oh, I can get them, thank you.” you said, and lifted them easily up the ramp. Both of the troopers stood behind you, looking a little stunned. It must have made quite a scene. The bags were heavy but your pride would not allow you to put them down until you were safely on board the craft. 

There was a _click_ from your heels as you walked across the black, metal floor. Approaching the passengers seating, you lifted your bags up onto the cargo racks. The Stormtroopers stood behind you a bit awkwardly while you shut the compartment and made your way up to the cockpit where Lieutenant Sato had gone. 

She was sitting in the copilot’s seat, another Stormtrooper next to her, preparing the ship for take off. 

“Ah, Doctor,” she stood upon hearing you enter the room, “feel free to make yourself comfortable. We’ll be getting up in the air as soon as possible.” 

“Thank you.” you said, “Do you know how long it will be before we arrive?” 

She led you back into the passenger area and punched some numbers onto a keypad in the wall. A door opened in the paneling next to her.

“Oh we’ll be in hyperspace for about a day and we’ll most likely arrive on Base late tomorrow afternoon.” she said before entering through the doors, “If you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to before we land.”

Haines and Murren, who had been loitering by the entrance to the ship, followed Lieutenant Sato. The doors slid shut and sealed, leaving you alone with the two ‘troopers. 

You walked over and sat underneath the compartments holding your luggage. The leather messenger bag was still hanging across your shoulder, so you lifted it over your head to lay it on your lap. The ‘troopers marched over to stand on either side of the door to the cockpit. You studied them as they held themselves at attention. 

The white, plastoid armor glinted in the fluorescent lighting. Every inch of their skin was covered, and the helmets they wore made it impossible to tell where they were looking. It was fascinating how uniform they looked, evening standing at the same height. You wished you could see their faces, or at least read their postures, but they might as well have been statues. 

You leaned back, crossing your legs clad in fitted slacks, and concentrated on the atmosphere of the room. It was calm for the most part, but if you focused closely enough on the ‘troopers you could sense a mild annoyance and intrusive anxiety growing in the space around them. The one closest to you shivered slightly and inclined their helmeted head in your direction. You offered a smile. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe Lieutenant Sato introduced us.” you said politely and offered your name.

The ‘trooper snapped to attention, armored hand cemented in a salute, “LX-4955, ma’am.” 

The distorted voice was distinctly male, a gruffness betrayed despite the modulator. He struck you as being older, maybe in his late forties. He cleared his throat and the trooper next to him stumbled a bit as he quickly came to attention himself.

“LX- 5781, ma’am.” the second trooper called out. His voice was higher pitched but still a man’s voice. He was most likely around your age or slightly younger, and almost certainly the source of the nervous energy permeating the quiet room. 

“It’s nice to meet both of you,” they remained stock still in their salutes,” really though, there’s no need for any formalities.”

“My apologies ma’am, just following protocol.” the older trooper, LX-4955, said.

“Well, we’re going to be working together for quite awhile,” you got up and sauntered over to them, “It might get a bit awkward if you’re always saluting me.” 

They slowly fell back into a more relaxed position and LX-5781 took a step closer to you.

“What do you mean, ma’am?” he asked, his voice boyish and curious. LX-4955 gave him what felt like a reproachful glare. 

“Well, maybe not you two specifically, but with all the Stormtroopers,” you held your hand out for him to shake, “I’m your new psychologist.”

You smiled as warmly as possible as he stared down at your hand. He looked back up at you for a few seconds and seemed to decide you were actually serious. 

The plastoid that covered his hand was icey when he grasped yours. His shake was firm so you squeezed back. You felt the air around him shift to something indicative of a smile. 

The atmosphere was no longer nervous but a frustrated aura still emanated from LX-4955. You turned to him next and offered your hand once again. He turned to face you and took your hand. You could feel the strength in his grip all the way up your arm, but your face remained polite and unfazed. He inclined his head in its helmet and the annoyance surrounding him faded just a bit. 

“Are you two required to stand guard here?” you asked.

LX-5781 glanced quickly at his partner before speaking, “Technically, but that’s just protocol, we aren’t guarding anything.” he said. His posture had changed drastically, shoulders slumping down at a more natural level, and he was no longer uniform in height with LX-4955.

You turned and began to walk back to your seat, “Well, in that case, why don’t you come join me. I have a few questions and I’d appreciate the company.” 

LX-5781 followed eagerly behind you and LX-4955 eventually left his post to join, taking a seat only after a bit of prompting. The two men sat in the row opposite you. LX-5781 slouched forward, bouncing a little in the seat next to his partner who leaned his elbows down on his knees, resting his head on his hands.

Now that you had them talking, it was slightly easier to gauge their thoughts, but the helmets still kept most things hidden.

“What kind of questions did you have, ma’am?” LX-5781 asked. His voice was expressive, so much so you could easily envision the wide smile stretching across his face. You supposed he wouldn’t be very hard to read with voice that practically shouted curiosity. 

“Mostly about you, or the Stormtroopers in general, I suppose.” you said, “How about we start with those protocols you mentioned, what exactly do they entail?” 

“That’s going to take quite a while, ma’am” he answered warily.

“Well, we’ve got quite a bit of time to kill, don’t we?”

***  
It was late when LX-4955 informed you that he would be taking the first shift of the night. At least you assumed it was late. There was no sunset to base your time off of, but judging by how drowsy you felt, it must have been late. LX-5781 cordially bid you a goodnight and headed off to catch a few hours of sleep while 4955 stood guard as per protocol. 

You would have protested if you did not also want to put in a few hours of sleep before arriving at Starkiller Base. So, you laid back in your seat, not entirely comfortable with the idea of sleeping on one of the provided bunks. 

4955 had taken his position back by the door to the cockpit, and the ship settled into a comfortable silence. You stared out of the viewport into the stars moving by outside at hyperspeed. The ship had made the jump a number of hours ago, and you estimated you would have at least another 14 or so hours left of the journey. 

Turning your head back towards the ceiling, you closed your eyes and tried to slow your breathing until, eventually, you drifted off. 

You awoke surrounded by stars and empty blackness. A screaming crackle filled the air around as you looked out, expecting to see a red light in the distance. Instead the burning figure was already there in front of you, reaching out urgently with fingers splayed and grasping. 

It remained a mere silhouette, expressionless and only vaguely human, but you could feel its desperation, see the anguish in its face. You rushed forward, arm outstretched and pale against the inky space surrounding you. 

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down just as your fingertips were about to touch. You stared deeply into the flaming figure, eyes burning from the brightness. The heat from his hand radiated light into the dark, illuminating the empty space. Your fingers inched closer and closer together, like trying to touch two south poles of a magnet. 

But, the scene before you was growing foggy, the red figure fading from your vision. You tried to thrust your hand forward but the blackness had engulfed everything around you. The burning presence was gone now, and your hands were only met with the nothingness of space. It was incredibly dark and completely silent without the crackling fire of the figure reaching for you. 

Usually by now you would have woken, but instead you continued to drift away into the vacuum of space. Not even the stars shed light into the darkness. 

***  
When you finally did wake, the ship was lurching out of hyperspace and the stars began to still outside the viewport. You jumped forward at the shock, glancing over to see one of the troopers stationed outside the cockpit entrance. When he glanced over and relaxed out of attention, you could tell that it was LX-5781 by the incline of his shoulders and the curious tilt of his helmet.

“Are you alright ma’am?” he asked, sounding mildly concerned. 

“I’m fine, just a bit startled.” you replied, peering outside in confusion, “How long was I asleep?” 

“Oh about thirteen hours or so, ma’am. We’ve just about arrived at Starkiller” he informed you. 

“I slept that long?!” you ran your hands through your hair and stood up. 

“Sorry ma’am, I would have woken you if-” 

“Don’t worry about,” you interrupted, “How long until we land?” 

“Another hour or so, it’ll take awhile to get to the hanger” he replied, adding a “ma’am” quickly as LX-4955 returned and took his position on the opposite side of the door. 

“Thank you,” you said as you fumbled in your hair for the pins to set it back into place and took a seat once more. 

The ‘troopers fell silent then and you pulled the messenger bag back onto your lap, sifting around for your notes. You shuffled through them, going over everything you planned to say to General Hux upon meeting him and brushing up on the little information you had been given on the workings of Starkiller Base. 

Some time when by before the silence of the room was broken by the entrance of Lieutenant Sato with Haines and Murren trailing behind her. 

“Good evening, Doctor,” she greeted, “did you sleep well?”

“I did,” out of the corner of your eye, you noticed LX-5781 shift a bit at his post. 

“Good, I just came to alert you that we will be docking in about 15 minutes” 

“Thank you, I’ll make sure I’m ready.” you replied as she made her way to the cockpit.

“Oh, and I was told to inform you that General Hux will be there to greet you when we land on Base.” she the Lieutenant said shooting you an oddly cold look. 

“Will he now?” you asked warily.

“Yes.” her voice was curt as she spoke, “It’s quite the...honor.” 

WIth that, she disappeared behind the doors, leaving you alone with the ‘troopers once again. Confused by her sudden change in demeanor, you decided to ignore it for now and began to lift your bags down from the luggage compartments. You glanced outside the ship just in time to see the stars disappearing behind a vast expanse of grey, metallic walls. 

The two troopers marched over to the ships entrance and you moved to stand between them. 

“Will you allow us to take your bags now, ma’am?” LX-5781 inquired politely and you agreed. 

It was one thing to make a display in front of the Lieutenant, but it seemed unwise to do so upon your first meeting with the General. The men grabbed one bag each and stood flanking you. Soon you felt the ship shutter as it settled onto solid ground once more. There was a hiss as the gangway lowered itself and the Lieutenant along with her men joined you. Before the troopers could move down the ramp you turned to them. 

“Thank you, 4955, 5781.” They both nodded their heads in acknowledgement, “I enjoyed your company.” 

“Move it!” Lieutenant Sato barked and the ‘troopers started quickly off the ship. 

You shot her a questioning look but she refused to glance your way. So, you made your own way down the ramp. When you reached the bottom at least twenty Stormtroopers stood at attention flanking a man with bright ginger hair and a great coat draped over his shoulders. 

“Good evening, you must be our new Doctor.” the man said

“Yes, I am.” you replied and approached him, your heels loud against the durasteel floor of the hanger. 

“It’s lovely to finally meet you in person, I’m General Hux.” 

“The pleasure is all mine, General.” you said, putting as much effort forth as possible to sound polite and not completely confused as to why the General himself had decided to offer you a personal welcome. 

“You’re too kind,” the smile he gave you looked unnatural and out of place on his pinched features. It never quite reached his eyes which glittered coldly as they looked you up and down.

“If you would allow it, I’d like to give you a short tour, so to speak, of the base.” General Hux said eyes suddenly settling on your shoes, “We’ll be doing quite a bit of walking,” he added with a raise of his barely visible brows. 

“That’s fine with me.” you stated simply, keeping the polite smile on your face.

“The pleasure is all mine, General.” you said, putting as much effort forth as possible to sound polite and not completely confused as to why the General himself had decided to offer you a personal welcome. 

“You’re too kind,” the smile he gave you looked unnatural and out of place on his pinched features. It never quite reached his eyes which glittered coldly as they looked you up and down.

“If you would allow it, I’d like to give you a short tour, so to speak, of the base.” General Hux said eyes suddenly settling on your shoes, “We’ll be doing quite a bit of walking,” he added with a raise of his barely visible brows. 

“That’s fine with me.” you stated simply, keeping the polite smile on your face.

“The pleasure is all mine, General.” you said, putting as much effort forth as possible to sound polite and not completely confused as to why the General himself had decided to offer you a personal welcome. 

“You’re too kind,” the smile he gave you looked unnatural and out of place on his pinched features. It never quite reached his eyes which glittered coldly as they looked you up and down.

“If you would allow it, I’d like to give you a short tour, so to speak, of the base.” General Hux said eyes suddenly settling on your shoes, “We’ll be doing quite a bit of walking,” he added with a raise of his barely visible brows. 

“That’s fine with me.” you stated simply, keeping the polite smile on your face.

You got the feeling that you were being underestimated. This had been a regular occurrence at the University, a symptom of working in a male majority environment in a generally disregarded field of study. Most of the time, these situations actually played out in your favor, and it was worth the look on your fellow researchers faces when they discovered that you didn't just dress the part, but played it too. There was no doubt in your mind that Hux would figure out very quickly, you didn't just wear those heels for the hell of it.

The fluorescent lighting of the hanger made his pale skin seem translucent and stark against the black of his uniform while he stepped forward to slide a gloved hand up to your lower back. 

“Right this way then,” he spoke quietly, pushing you forward out of the hanger. The Stormtroopers broke rank as the General turned. 

You stiffened at his touch, but before you could reply Lieutenant Sato brushed by at a brisk pace with her head held high and muttering something under her breath. Hux ignored her reaction completely but removed his hand, which you were very thankful for. 

There had been many men like the General at the University. The only problem was that putting Hux back in his place would most likely get you killed. A thought that had, up until now, not occurred to you. 

It was not that you were unaware of the dangers of being affiliated with such a notoriously cut-throat military power, but before that had seemed so ‘far away’. Now you were staring down the barrel of a blaster and it was now apparent to you that one wrong move would put a fairly sizable whole through your head. 

Your usual methods for dealing with over assuming men would not fly here, you were going to have to adapt, and quickly. 

“Follow me.” He said with a hint of exasperation slipping into his voice. 

“Of course, General.” 

You were going to have to play this just right. Objectively, it made no sense for the General to devote time out of his day to parade a new hire around the base, a job fit for practically any other lower level personnel, so why did he really want to meet you in person? You seriously doubted that this had been a spur-of-the-moment decision, which made how recently you were informed of this suspicious as well. 

Whatever the reason, you knew this conversation with Hux-which was no doubt the real reason for his tour-would determine any further interactions you would have with the man. Needless to say, it was important this went well. 

“I trust your flight went smoothly,” he commented, leaning his head down when he spoke to you. 

You stood straighter. 

“Yes, I slept through most of it.” Conversational and polite was how you would play it for now. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” He did not sound glad at all, but you dismissed this as he lead you out of the hanger and into a cavernous hallway, “I’m sure you’re aware, but the Base is quite large.” 

“It’s very impressive,” you added. This was true, actually. Converting an entire planet into a functioning facility this size, despite its purposes, was a feat you admired. You valued dedication.

“Yes, I agree.” he responded. His face may have remained a cold slate, but his words were telling enough. Most people would have just thanked you for the compliment. 

The two of you had reached the end of large corridor now which opened into another equally large hall. It the space was curved, so the path branched into two. The General turned left and you followed closely at his side, your heels echoing loudly around the high ceilings. 

“Starkiller is organized into four sectors,” Hux began to explain, keeping his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he walked, “You will conduct most of your work here in sector A.” 

He gestured forward at the hall you walked down. Up ahead there was a large set of doors illuminated by the red light from a sign above them which read ‘MED BAY’ in glowing letters. As you approached, it slid open to reveal a brighter hall with both walls composed entirely of floor to ceiling glass panels. Orderly’s in white coats bustled back and forth between beds that lined each room behind the glass in neat rows. 

“This is the Medical Wing.” General Hux stated with another wave of his hand as the two of you paused by the doors. “This is the the sick bay, as you can see. Operating theaters, consulting rooms, pharmacies, and so on are all located here as well.”

“This is quite an amazing facility, General.” you said as you gazed around, peering through the glass in awe. It was massive, it must have to be for a planet-sized base. 

“I could go on,” Hux interrupted your gawking by continuing on down the hall, “but I’ll let our department head, Doctor Murdock, fill you in later.” 

“I’ll certainly look forward to it,” you replied and hurried to catch up with him. He shot you a side glance when you finally matched pace again, a smirk settling on his pale face. 

“Your office will be on the level 15 along with all the other medical personnel office spaces.” he said, “If you’d like, I’ll show you there now.” 

“I get my own office?” you asked, doing your best to hide the excitement in your voice. 

“Of course,” the General chuckled under his breath, although it came off as more condescending than humorous, “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

He led you to an elevator adjacent to the sick bay’s entrance and you both stepped inside. Hux pressed the button for the fifth level and you rose quickly upwards. There was a lull in conversation as you waited for the elevator to stop, so you took this time to study the General. He’d caught you so off-guard that you hadn’t had a chance to properly analyze him. 

His ginger head was currently trained on the rising number above the door so you allowed your eyes to focus on him. 

If you concentrated you could almost see the stress rolling off him like waves in the sea. The way he held himself, so stiff you could see the tension in his neck, made it seem like he was constantly pushing against an immense weight on his shoulders. Although, that was to be expected from a man in a position such as Hux’s. 

You focused harder on him, seeing him shiver under your gaze and flick his eyes suspiciously in your direction. Glancing away was futile at this point, so you stared back. After a moment you decided the silence needed to be broke. 

“I don’t mean to sound rude, General,” you started, “and I’m very flattered that you’ve taken the time out of your day to show me around, but couldn’t one of your Stormtroopers do this just as easily?” 

“Would you rather-” he began, eyes narrowed. You cut him off, deciding it was better to risk stepping on his toes to clarify. 

“No, not at all. As I said, I’m very thankful for the chance to get acquainted with my new employer.” He straighten a bit at the compliment. Good, it was better if he was under the impression that’s all you thought this was. “It’s just that, I was given the impression that you would be too..busy to meet with me for quite awhile, much less give me a guided tour.” 

The elevator doors opened then and Hux stepped out first. His black clad frame filled the small exit as he turned to face you, body squarely blocking the hallway from view. You were effectively trapped-in more ways than one--and he wanted you to know it. 

His face remained politely blank but his eyes were easy to read: Arrogance. 

“It seems as though you’ve caught me, Doctor,” he let his hands go from their clasped position behind his back and threw them up in defeat, “I confess I did have an ulterior motive for wanting to meet with you so soon.” 

“And what might that be?” Was he really about to come clean? Maybe you had read him wrong.

“Well, you see, I took a look at your file earlier and noticed something odd.” he stepped to the side and motioned for you to join him in the hall, “There seemed to be quite a few gaps in the information sent to us from your previous employment. Very little more than your picture…” he trailed off and swept his gaze across you while you stepped out to stand next to him. “I simply felt it would be prudent to get to know more about you.” 

The innuendo clearly hidden in his words, enhanced by the all to obvious looks he had just given you was completely absent when you met his eyes. It was all a rouse. Though, a well played and most likely well rehearsed one at that. You forced yourself to send a small smile in his direction. 

He was looking down at you from a pedestal so high you could only imagine the years, and bodies, it had taken to build. It hadn’t even occurred to him that you were wise to his real reason for chauffeuring you around.

Well, you would just have to make it obvious then. 

“I see,” you said and shot him a smirk of your own before walking ahead of him down the hall, “I’d be glad to answer any of your questions, General.” You turned to face him, hands clasped behind your back and chin held high, “I have a few of my own.”

Hux pursed his lips, the well constructed grin slipping slowly away. His eye twitched ever so slightly before he regained his calm. You had thrown him off balance, something that seemed not to happen very often. He crossed the few feet between you and continued farther down the hall. You followed close behind. 

After walking down the long hall for a time, this one with lower ceilings than the other previous corridors, he stopped by another set of sliding doors. 

“Here we are, Doctor,” Hux punched a code into the keypad next to the door and stepped inside, “your office.” 

Immediately, all thoughts of your back-and-forth game with the General were lost as you stepped into the room. 

“This is mine?” you asked quietly, not even bothering to hide the shock in your voice. 

Hux glanced over at you, a strange expression on his face, “Yes, this is yours. Is it to your liking?” he asked, moving to stand and face you. 

“It’s perfect.”

It was. The office was nearly the size of your apartment back at the University. There was a cushioned loveseat and armchair in one corner next to a wall lined with steel bookshelves. Opposite that was a large mahogany desk and matching chair with a large monitor perched on top. You could already imagine all the work you could get done in here, all the patients you would see. 

“I made some arrangements as far as furnishings based on the notes you sent in.” Hux said and took a seat in the grey armchair, motioning for you to sit as well, “I’m glad to see you approve.” 

You seated yourself on the matching loveseat, crossing your legs and facing the General in an effort to regain your composure. 

“So, General,” you began, “shall we start with those questions?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for two cliffhanger dialogue endings in a row and yeah, this is a day late...but in my defense I was taking the ap psychology exam yesterday and I had absolutely no energy to publish this. As an apology it's a bit longer than I had originally anticipated and I promise to be on time with the next one, which will be out on May 21st! (Spoiler!: Kylo will finally make an appearance...) Thanks so much for reading guys!


	3. Introductions and Applicability: Article Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scars than almost anything else.”  
> ― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick recap, in the last article the reader was introduced to Hux, Starkiller's resident ginger asshole. But there's more than one ass on this Base and we're about to meet him...

Most of what the General asked was irrelevant. Casual questions all pertaining to personal information and background, things you were completely certain had been included in the files sent from the University. 

You were certain because it just so happened that you had been the one to write them. But Hux, of course, couldn’t know that. 

So, he must have some ulterior motive in this pointless interrogation and it certainly wasn’t because he found you attractive, whatever his prior behavior implied. The General was obviously skilled in manipulation--he would have to be to secure a position like his--but you were quite familiar with the science behind his actions. You wouldn’t be so easily fooled.

All there was to do was wait for him to slip. This came sooner rather than later.

Hux shifted a bit in his chair and glanced around the room. “I’m curious, Doctor.” he began, eyes focused intently on his manicured nails, “Your homeworld was involved in quite the dispute between our own First Order and the Resistance.”

Our. Another collective. Something you were not a part of. 

“So it was.” you stated nonchalantly, noting how expressly Hux endeavoured not to meet your eyes. 

“From what I understand, much of it was destroyed in the fallout of that...dispute.” He leaned back in the armchair, gaze wandering around the bookshelves above your head.

“Yes, that’s certainly one way to put it,” you replied curtly, refusing to look away from his face.

“Hmm, well, I wanted to inquire as to your opinions on the subject.” He finally looked down to study your expression, which you made quite sure to keep blank, “I know you come from the employment of a neutral party. However, I was wondering...where you would place yourself, let’s say.”

You let the question hang, a pause then:

“General, are you asking me what side I’m on?” You took this opportunity to show some bite through the polite facade. 

“That’s certainly one way to put it.” He shrugged, throwing your words back at you. A smirk was spreading along his thin lips.

You narrowed your eyes, and let all the civility fall from your tone. “General, I believe you hired me as a medical professional.” He knit his brows together but only nodded, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it’s stated directly in my contract that I was hired as a neutral party.”

“Yes.” You noted how the corner of his mouth twitched. Now was your chance to drive the point home.

“Then there’s no need to come here under false pretenses of interest in my physical appearance and missing documents to manipulate me into trusting you, now is there.”

His eyes went wide and then settled into slits as he stood from his chair. “Be careful how you address me, Doctor.” his tone was deeper than before. This was a command, not a suggestion. “Even you should know how dangerous accusing an officer of such things can be.”

“I’m not accusing you of anything, General.” you stood and closed the distance between yourself and where he stood, “I’m just letting you know you can’t lie to me.”

It was moments like this that you were especially appreciative of your heels as you were nearly eye level with him. He stared daggers at you before calmly walking to the door of your office and opening it.

“I think we’re done here, Doctor. I’ll take you to your room.” Hux said sharply and you walked over to meet him, “I’m sure you’re tired.” 

“Certainly, thank you.” 

He walked out into the hall and you followed while he took off ahead towards another elevator. 

***

The journey to your new quarters was completely silent. Not awkwardly so, but in thinly veiled annoyance. The General radiated it in waves. It was easy to deduce that he was a man who did not enjoy being beaten.

You supposed that made sense, given his rank. No one got far in life by losing. 

After stepping out of the elevator, he led you down two other hallways before stopping in front of a door. He punched a code its keypad and the durasteel slid open. Hux took a step back and turned to go, still silent, his arms tightly behind his back. Without facing you he offered his last words: 

“Your bags have been delivered. Make yourself at home, if I’m not mistaken, your first appointment is in a few hours.” 

“Thank you, General.” you replied with the same fake politeness, moving to step into your new room. 

“Oh, and Doctor?” Hux said, stopping and turning his head slightly, “Don’t forget to change those passcodes.” 

“Of course.” you said warily. 

He turned his face fully in your direction, eyes not leaving yours, “We wouldn’t want anyone breaking in.”

The doors slid shut behind you after you hurried quickly through them. You leaned your forehead against the cool metal, heart still pounding heavily against your ribs. The look in Hux’s eyes was pure venom. Really, it was a miracle you’d held your composure long enough for the door to close. Beads of moisture began to form on the durasteel as you breathed slowly in and out. 

Well, you’d certainly made your point. Although, it seemed the General had been determined to make one of his own. You added ‘don’t piss off Hux’ to your new mental list of ‘Behaviors to Avoid on Starkiller’, and pushed yourself off the door, finally looking around. 

The room was huge.

Well, it was more than likely pretty standard, but coming from a studio apartment with barely enough room for a twin bed, it was enormous. You could only guess the nice room was a perk of being a department head in the Medical Wing. 

It was open concept. The floor was the same cold durasteel as the rest of the Base, but there were a few deep red area rugs scattered neatly. Another look around the room told you that the whole place was furnished with the same color pallet: red, black, and white. 

There was a sunken middle area with three steps on all four sides leading down to a sectional sofa and a coffee table, on top of which sat a holoprojector. Directly across the room, on the opposite side of the sunken living room space, was a desk and chair with another monitor perched on its surface. To your left and around the corner of the steps was a small hallway and walking further ahead lead you into the kitchenette. To the right was a larger set of sliding doors which stood open. You assumed this was the bedroom. 

The same awe that had overtaken you in the office before came hurtling back the second that the reality of the situation fully dawned on you. 

“This is mine…” you whispered to the silent room, still only in the doorway. 

A smile was working its way up your cheeks as you hung your blazer on one of the hooks by the entrance and slipped off your shoes. Upon closer inspection, you saw your bags sitting on the opposite side of the doors and reached to pick them up. 

You had some unpacking to do. 

***

A few hours later, you found yourself laying on the floor of what you had deemed The Study adjacent from the desk and chair. There was a particularly comfortable rug, in a very authentic shade of blood red, which stretched in front of a wall of bookshelves coupled by a black upholstered armchair.

The second of your two suitcases had been packed full of the rest of your books which had not been preemptively shipped to Starkiller, and it now sat open next to you, finally empty. The shelves, on the other hand, were pleasantly full. 

You shifted on the floor, still in the fitted slacks and blouse you’d arrived in. Arranging your face too close to your underarms made it obvious that a shower was definitely necessary. Especially, after wearing the same outfit for nearly 48 hours. 

Standing, you walked the short distance to the desk where you had found the datapad left for you and tapped the screen. There was a message labeled with Hux’s clearance code that you had yet to open, but other than that, your inbox was empty. A yawn bubbled up from your chest and you glanced at the alarm clock that sat on next to the monitor. It was just past two in the morning. 

Despite the late--or early--hour, you decided to shower anyway. The bathroom, you had discovered during your initial wandering of the quarters, was down the short hallway by the kitchen. And the door right by it was a fully stocked linen closet, complete with extra sheets and plush towels. 

These were, thankfully, not the color of spilled blood, but a snowy white. 

You grabbed a few and made your way to the bathroom, the durasteel cold on your bare feet. There was a dark wood shelf on the far left wall where you sat the stack of towels. Across from that was the vanity with a creamy white surface and black wood cabinets underneath. Your fingers began working off the buttons on the blouse which you then threw unceremoniously onto the closed toilet right of the vanity. Next came the slacks, joining the blouse seconds later. 

The shower, on the far wall, had no curtain. There was only a small dip and a ledge to keep the water in with two waist height walls on either side. It’s black tile covered all the walls and was lined with jets and one large rectangular head in the middle of the ceiling. You pressed the switch just underneath the wooden shelf and water burst to life, pouring out from the head in a stream and spraying from the smaller jets. 

“Oh _hell_ yes…” you murmured and quickly pulled your underwear down your hips till it fell to the floor and unhooked your bra. Steam had already begun to fog up the mirror and your aching muscles were practically screaming for you to jump into the near scalding water. 

You stepped in and sighed deeply as the water rolled off your skin, leaving it pink and warm while quickly soaking your hair that had fallen from the pins long before. After running your hands through some of the tangles, you glanced at the empty indent in the black tile wall, realizing you’d forgotten to bring any soap. 

“Dammit.” you grumbled and looked despairingly at the vanity before quickly hoping from the stream of water. 

The durasteel was slippery under your wet feet and you slid most of the way before bending down and opening the cabinet under the sink to find the shampoo, conditioner, and bodywash you’d unpacked earlier. You grabbed all three and hurried back into the spray of the shower. 

Pouring a generous amount of shampoo, you ran soap covered hands through the wet strands of hair that stuck to your neck. Light floral and earthy scents filled the bathroom as you stood under the water, letting it wash away the suds and tension from your journey. You hummed a bit of an old song while you conditioned the ends of wet hair and scrubbed your skin vigorously with a washcloth. When all of the soap was washed away, you stood in the stream of water for another minute or two. With a sigh, you reached over the tile wall and flicked off the water, grabbing a towel from the shelf as well. 

After being in the bathroom for about a half an hour, you decided that it was best to try and get some sleep. 

Wrapped in the soft towel, and coated in thick, sweet smelling lotion, you walked quickly across your quarters to the large doorway on the opposite the bathroom. You entered and crossed another rug to the closet. Sliding open the door, you pulled at the set of drawers in the center, picking up a loose t-shirt and clean underwear to slip on. Your hands fumbled around the wall for the light switch and flicked it down but left the lamps in the living area on so you weren’t completely bathed in darkness. Then quickly, you jumped onto the soft bed across the room, wrapping yourself in its white comforter. 

Minutes passed. 

You weren't sure how long you’d actually lay there but it had become clear that sleep was going to be elusive tonight. Sighing through your nose, you detangled yourself from the comforter and sat up, making your way out into the main room. 

Looking around, you thought you could grab a book, maybe curl up on the sectional, but your legs had begun to ache restlessly. So instead, you walked back into the bedroom, flicking the lights on as you went, and pulled a pair of tan slippers along with some athletic shorts out of the closet. You slipped them both on and grabbed a sweater as well, tugging it around your shoulders and heading over to the main doors. 

You pressed the activation switch and watched as they slid quietly open to reveal a deserted hallway lit only by fluorescent, overhead lights. 

Stepping out and closing the doors, you looked each way down the hall. You remembered that Hux had led you past a large viewport on the way to your quarters, so you set out to find it, hoping to get a glimpse of the night sky. You knew Starkiller’s surface was cold and perpetually covered in snow, but the prospect of seeing anything other than the durasteel that surrounded you on every side was too enticing to pass up. 

It was strange to not hear the usual _click_ of your heels on the floor. At this point, it seemed like you wore them everywhere and now, walking without them made you feel exposed. You wished you’d gotten dressed at least, but it was unlikely that you’d run into anyone at this time of the morning so you kept going. 

It had been a very long time since anyone had seen you dressed so informally. You wondered, idly, when the last time was and who it had been, but you came up blank. 

The fork in the hall brought you out of your thoughts. You turned right, just as Hux had led you earlier. Down another hall and left brought you out into one of the large, main corridors. The tall ceilings made you feel even smaller without your heels on. You wrapped the sweater tighter around your chest. Up ahead, a small beam of light shone across the floor. You stopped in front of the it and leaned your elbows against the circular viewport, resting your chin on your hands. 

You could just make out the flecks of snow falling outside. Straining your eyes upwards, you found that the stars were obscured behind a heavy, gray mass of storm clouds. Your sigh at the discovery fogged up the widow, and you waited for it to dissipate before contenting yourself with watching the white dust drift in the wind just beyond the glass. 

In the distance, stood the outline of massive pines silohetted against the snow. They were merely black shapes in the night but you could imagine the dark, forest green of their needles as vividly as if you were standing between the branches. 

It had been so long since you’d seen anything green. Anything living.

Besides the other researchers and attendees of the University, of course, the whole planet had been completely mechanized. No fields, no trees, no flowers, or growing things of any sort. Even the sky had been steely gray. The last time you’d felt soil beneath your feet had been on your homeworld. But that was so far away now and felt as though it been lifetimes ago that you had last run through the carefully planted rows of crops, felt the cool sea breeze on your skin, the ground soft like clouds under your toes. 

It wasn’t something you thought of often. It hurt too much to think about. 

You focused on the landscape outside, desperately attempting to make out any color other than inky black or desolate white. Instead, you watched as the lines of conifers were swallowed up by the blizzard until they disappeared completely in a haze, almost as though they had never been there at all. You tried very hard to ignore the jagged irony of it.

***

Kylo Ren marched angrily down the halls of Starkiller Base. 

He was in a particularly foul mood, although there was, admittedly, rarely ever a time when he wasn’t. Hux had so generously come to his quarters a few hours before to inform him that the Supreme Leader had requested his presence. It had taken all his self control not to plunge his lightsaber into that stuck up, ginger pricks chest cavity. An urge which was becoming increasingly difficult to suppress. 

Kylo chose to blame his annoyance on Hux’s unwelcome appearance at his door, conveniently ignoring the anxiety that had bloomed in him at the mention of Snoke. 

An impromptu meeting like this never boded well. And with the recent plateau in his training, it certainly wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. That was probably why he was taking such a round-about way to Snoke’s chamber. He pushed on the fingers of each hand with his thumb until the joints popped. The familiar itching had begun, the need to dig his glowing red, plasma blade at his side into something, _anything_ that may relieve a little of the stress that pulled at his chest and forced the air out of his lungs in ragged gasps. 

Sparks started to fly from the embers that constantly burned inside his ribcage. He could already feel the fire beginning to rekindle in his blood. Anger like flames ate away at his resolve, turning his thoughts into a churning, irrational mess. He tried to focus on the hallway ahead and smother the growing heat under his skin. 

There was a main corridor coming up which he knew he should turn down. He was very tempted to just keep walking and delay seeing the Supreme Leader for as long as possible. But when Kylo go closer to the archway, he stopped. 

A pull. It was so weak, he almost missed it completely. 

Slowing his steps, he quietly approached the turn in the hall and glanced around the corner. There you stood, silhouetted in the light from a large viewport, no doubt the source of the disturbance he’d felt. You were bent over the sill of the glass, staring out at the snowfall. 

The Force flowed softly around you; water in a slow-moving stream. The interaction so faint it was barely there, like the last fading glow of a lightbulb after its been turned off. The sight seemed so incongruent, so out of place in its peacefulness. 

Kylo walked fully out into the hall, keeping his head forward but his eyes trained on you. His boots echoed in the long corridor and your head shot up, eyes locking onto him. He didn’t stop making his way down the hall, but everything in his mind did. All the racing thoughts and nerves were still as you gazed at him in the dim light. His skin felt as though it had been submerged in icy water, the fire he’d felt growing in him suddenly burnt out. He couldn’t remember a time when the flames and darkness weren’t reaching their burning tongues around inside him. 

He felt so...calm. 

The image of you was cemented into his mind as he proceeded down the hall. The messy way your hair laid, as if you had just woken up. Your skin illuminated by the light from the window. 

Unconsciously he felt himself reaching out through the Force to you, felt it settle around your head. Questions rattled aimlessly through his thoughts, the chief among them loud in his ears. 

_Who are you?_

He saw your brow furrow minutely and felt a chill run down his spine. Light, icy fingers caressed the sides of his face, knotting themselves in the long hair hidden under his mask. 

Immediately, he tore away, closing down the connection in shock. The chilled hands were ripped from the edges of his mind where they met with the quickly constructed wall. As Kylo passed, he had to look away so his head stayed straight. Though he stopped when he got to the next archway, unable to keep himself from looking one more time. 

But you had already turned back to the viewport. 

The commander continued on his way, the long black fabric of his cowl flowing behind him as he sped up his pace. He had places to be, more important matters to attend to than one barely sensitive stranger. The embers inside him had begun to glow once again, although they never burned hot enough to ignite as he walked to where his master waited. 

***

Your head shot up when the sound of footsteps reached your ears. Searching the hall for their source, your eyes were met with a wall of darkness. 

The man at the end of the hall towered over you, clad head to toe in black, flowing fabric. Although, your eyes were especially drawn to the sinister mask that obscured his face from view. You were frozen to the spot, as you felt a wave of pure anger and anxiety wash over you. 

Whoever this man was, you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

Every inch of your body was screaming to run, but your mind, as it always did, remained calm and unphased. He never turned his helmeted head to look in your direction but you sensed that he was meeting your stare. You got the feeling that this man was dangerous, skin erupting in goosebumps as he drew nearer. 

A crackling aura surrounding his figure. 

He came closer still. There was a pressure building at your temples, like thick, strong hands were pressing into your skull. You could nearly feel the texture of worn leather, warm against your skin. A wave of something indescribable washed over you, prying and hot like air from a bonfire in the wind. 

The feeling was almost unbearable and yet, you pushed back. But, it was not a physical force that left your body; you had never experienced this before. It was invigorating and terrifying all at once.

When he passed, you felt his eyes leave yours. The ghostly hands slipped from you head and the heat that had spread across your skin evaporated, leaving you cold in the barren hallway. Scrambling to pull your sweater tighter about your shoulders, you forced your gaze back out the window until he was safely out of the corridor, only sneaking one last glance to catch the edges of his cloak disappearing around the corner. 

Upon watching him retreat the immense weight of the situation finally began to dawned on you. 

No doubt this man was some sort of commanding officer, based on the way he was dressed. And you, a suspicious, unknown presence was out, _not in uniform_ , wandering the hallway at night! It was a miracle he didn’t kill you on the spot. 

Despite your newly flowing rational thought, you couldn’t quite help glancing at his retreating figure, catching just a glimpse of him as he disappeared around the corner. You decided that was your cue to leave, and hurried back to your quarters. 

***

The fingers on your right hand shook when you tapped in the passcode --which you had changed thanks to Hux’s extremely foreboding parting words--and slipped quickly into your room. The clock on the desk had flashed its glowing red letters: four thirty in the goddamn morning. You sighed, leaving your slippers by the doorway and walking through the warmly lit main area over to The Study. Grabbing the holopad, you quickly unlocked it and set an alarm for 7 a.m. then headed into the bedroom. 

You clumsily ran your hand over the wall, turning the lights off and sliding the door closed. Softly, you placed the holopad on the bedside table, propped up to show the time. Your limbs felt like lead sinking into the mattress when you flopped onto the bed. The comforter was soft against your back and you burrowed into it again after casting the sweater aside. 

Closing your eyes, the man from the hall flashed across your vision. You shivered at the memory. He had been so angry. The feeling was so strong, it felt almost like it was your own. The whole encounter had been disconcerting to say the least.

Well, that was certainly the last time you’d go wandering the halls at night.

At least for a little while. 

If nothing else, you were drifting off now and the call of sleep was too tempting to resist, even if you had that dream again. 

In a few hours, you would start your new job, your new life really. It it felt like you’d finally ‘cleared the ground’, so to speak. Now you just had to figure out where exactly you were headed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this update is on time...and pretty long! Next chapter we'll finally be getting most of the expositional shit out of the way and the rest of it is gonna hit the fan. Get ready and thanks for reading!!


	4. Preamble: Article One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind. “ -Patrick Rothfuss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last chapter, the reader finally came face to face with Kylo Ren, the famed commander of the First Order...and promptly ran the fuck away. Now, the memory still fresh in her mind, she begins her first official day as Starkiller's head psychologist. But there are still far more surprises waiting for her...

The elevator door slid open, echoing in the empty hall. Kylo stepped forward and let the cold durasteel close, his cowl settling around him. Usually by now, his throat would be closing, the air clawing desperately to reach his lung, fingers itching to tear away the mask. But his hands were still. His chest did not cave in with the pressure of ragged, gasping breath. 

He felt at ease. 

Blood was not charing his insides black. There was only the sticky warmth of sweat against heavy material and the constant, heavy pulse of heartbeats against his ribs. 

The elevator rose steadily as it always did, and he found himself wondering when the last time was that he had taken a second to stop and breathe. It felt like ages ago. His mind was drifting, something it normally never did. The the girl by the viewport swam across his vision. He’d felt her through the Force, felt her use the Force. There was another Force user here, on Starkiller Base. He should be concerned. 

He should have killed her. 

Killed her or worse: brought her to Snoke. Either way, he was not as focused on the situation as he should be. But she had been so weak. Nothing more than a trickle, if even. She was not important, he knew that. And yet. The easy flowing of his mind would not release the image of her hair falling into her eyes or the bare expanses of skin that showed through her sleeping clothes. He’d never seen her before but he had seen plenty of women working around the base. She was no different excluding her Force sensitivity. And yet. The memory of soft, ice cold hands cupping his face was alight on his skin. 

The elevator door opened. 

Kylo’s chest tightened instinctively at the sight before him. A massive throne with it’s eerie gray occupant staring a line straight through him. Breathe. The thought came so easily. He felt his chest expand and his shoulders pull back as he took one step, then two, then three towards his Master. 

“Good evening, Master.” he said, kneeling with his head bowed before Snoke in the dark, cavernous room. 

“You are less than puntual, I see,” the Supreme Leader responded with a voice void of any emotion. Kylo let the silence hang, sensing that Snoke was not quite finished speaking. A few seconds passed before he continued, “Do you know why I summoned you, Knight of Ren?”

A loaded question. There was no good answer. Cold hands on his cheeks: Breathe.

“No, Supreme Leader.” His voice crackled through its modulator, but did not waver.

Snoke’s mask of calm cracked as his eyes narrowed, focusing directly on Kylo’s small figure in the gray light. The tightness returned to his chest under his Master’s gaze, the Force beginning to churn. But no hands gripped and threatened to crush his skull in their twisted fingers. 

Snoke relaxed in his throne and spoke once more, “I will no longer be training you.” 

“What?”, Kylo’s stood in his shock at the words. He was speaking out of turn but at the moment he was more concerned with the meaning of Snoke’s statement rather than being respectful. 

Was he being dismissed? 

A chuckle bit through the air, reverberated off the immense ceiling, “You allow your emotions to control you.” The deep voice was laced with reproach, juxtaposed against his Master’s smile,“It would do you well to remember your place, boy!” 

In a matter of seconds, Kylo’s feet left the floor and his throat constricted against an intense pressure. He tried desperately to stop his hands from grasping at his neck like some expendable ‘trooper. In the end instinct won out and his gloved hands reached up, pulling at thin air as his vision turned black at the edges. 

As quickly as it had come, the invisible hand holding him up withdrew, and he crumpled to the floor, landing awkwardly on his wrist. A distinct cracking of bones echoed as he hit the durasteel. 

“Until further notice,” his master continued cooly, “you will train independently.” 

Kylo glanced up, glad that he had the mask to cover how his face contorted in shame and confusion. Snoke could sense it, but it offered some level of comfort. Breathe. He moved to kneel once more, ignoring the pain in his arm and the bruises sure to be forming around his throat.

The hologram’s face looked down at him suspiciously, “What was that?” he asked. 

This time the crushing sensation did come. He felt his mind being ripped apart. The girl stood before him once more: bare legs and hair in her face, the dim light shining off her skin. Her expression shocked and eyes staring. The feeling cold hands on his cheeks returned as Snoke dug through his memories. The Force flowing like a stream over rocks swirled around her silhouette. 

A figure in the darkness. A hand reaching out. 

“AAGGHH!” the scream ripped out of his mouth as his surroundings began to come back into focus. It crackled, the pitch too loud for the mask to obscure. The throne room began to materialized out of the blackness. His Master’s voice rang through the pain in his head.

“Who is she?” 

It was not a question.

“I don’t know.” Kylo breathed out. He waited for the hands to cup his face, waited for the voice to tell him to breathe, prayed for the relief they would bring, but neither came. His chest felt as though it was caving in, mask suffocating him. Even in the vast room, the walls were closing in.

“You felt her.” 

If Kylo hadn’t been concerned before, he was now. 

“Yes.” he replied, “She was so weak, I thought the matter inconsequential.” 

Snoke’s laugh tore through the room, manic and berating, “That is not for you to decide, Ren.” he spoke, his voice sharp as the last gnarled, ghostly finger unwrapped itself from Kylo’s skull. 

“Yes, Master.” he choked out and pulled himself off the ground, turning to leave as Snoke waved his hand in dismissal. 

“Remember that you are in no position to judge weakness, boy.” the hologram’s light flickered against the throne room walls, “Do not underestimate what you cannot see.” 

With that, the grayish glow extinguished and Kylo stepped into the elevator. 

The fire was back, burning with a vengeance. 

***

Blackness. You were back, floating adrift in space once again. The familiar red glow was pulsing slowly in the distance. 

It was so far away now.

An ache bloomed high in your chest. Sadness. Pity. Without thinking, you reached forward, bare skin pale against the nothing. Then a blink, a heartbeat’s breadth, and without warning, the red figure was only inches from your outstretched hand. It was barely human in shape now, flames burning brighter than you had ever seen them. Blistering heat washed over you.

The air was filled with a screaming crackle. But this time it sounded far more like a voice too loud for its modulator. 

The figure didn’t lift its arm out towards you. It simply stood, fire raging, and bent down as if to push its face into your palm.

The screaming filled your ears. 

You hand was on fire.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You pried one eye open slowly. The room was dim, lit only by the lamp light spilling in from behind your bedroom’s sliding door and the glow from your holopad. The holopad. The alarm. 

Oh god. 

Sitting up irreverently, you slapped a hand down against the screen to silence it's incredibly annoying beeping and screamed loudly at the pain erupting across that same hand. Yanking it back you saw angry red blisters covering your palm, some leaking clear fluid from the broken skin. 

You remembered the dream. The figure’s cheek so close, your hand in the flames. 

When you looked back down, though, the skin was smooth. There was no sign that it had ever been burned in the first place. You swallowed, but decided it was best to ignore whatever you had seen. It wouldn’t be the first time a dream had followed you into the waking world. 

The bulky comforter pooled at your waist, leaking the residual warmth from hours of cocooning you through the night. You ran a hand lazily through your hair, before tossing the covers back and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. 

The air was cold, biting through your thin t-shirt, its collar falling loosely over your chest. You picked up the discarded sweater from the night before and stood. At the thought of last night, everything that had occured came crashing back. 

Oh god.

Hux’s threat...the man in the mask. Your face flushed at the memory. He had to be some sort of high ranking officer just based on the outfit he wore. And you’d been in your pajamas....great. What a wonderful way to meet your boss. The more you thought about it, the more vivid the scene became in your mind: his boots pounding down the hall, eyes trained on you, warm, leather gloves clutching your temples--

You pressed the heel of your hands into both eyes. That was enough of that. 

Shrugging the sweater over your shoulders, you slid the doors open and walked out into the main room. The lights were still dimly lit so you turned them up on your way to the kitchen. It was 7 o’clock in the morning; you needed some coffee. 

The kitchen was mostly empty, a few boxes here and there you hadn’t gotten around to unpacking yet. Some silverware sat out on the counter, a few plates were stacked in the cabinets but there was little else. A majority of your belongings had been shipped off to Starkiller over the few months before your arrival. Well, a majority of your few belongings. Your apartment at the University had been a nearly a fourth the size of your quarters here. There wasn’t really room for furniture nor did you have much need for it. 

After a few minutes of searching, you were able to find your french press packed away under some plates, but it was practically useless without any coffee grounds. This medical wing housed all the doctors and aids on Starkiller, though, so you assumed there had to be something akin to a staff lounge. Hopefully you could find some there. 

Although, that required getting dressed. Which was not something you were entirely in the mood for. 

Your first appointment wasn’t until ten, but you’d wanted to brush up on some notes before hand. To avoid getting ready, you walked over to the stack of boxes left by The Study, and began riffling through them.

The first only contained a few old textbooks from your days as a student and other psychological volumes that wouldn’t fit on the shelves. You placed them on the desk and folded the box up, sitting it against the wall. The second was mainly miscellaneous items, some jewelry, letters wrapped in a strip of cloth, and two pictures in frames. You lifted the photos out, studying the worn wooden borders before slipping the newer of the two into your leather messenger bag. The older, you sat in a gap between two books on the shelves right next to your arm chair.

It looked out of place next to the sleek, black metal of the wall but then again, you probably looked quite out of place here as well. 

The third box was an assortment of worn blankets. You bent down, lifting it up and walking around the sunken living room to the linen closet. One by one, you folded and tucked them into free spaces between towels. Staring down at the bottom of the box, you paused and pulled out the last item. It was a woven quilt, intricately patterned with swirling blues and light pink blossoms. You ran a hand softly over its faded fabric, it too looked out of place in contrast to the modern coldness of the room. 

You spread it, folded, along the back of the sectional sofa. 

With all the boxes now unpacked, you had little else to do other than get ready and quickly review patient files. So, you reluctantly headed into the bedroom, turning the lights all the way up and sliding open the closet doors. Behind them were all your neatly organized rows of slacks, skirts, blouses, shoes, and dresses. All of the more casual clothing items tucked away in the drawers. The time had come for you to make one of the hardest decisions of the morning:

Did you want to wear pants?

Obsensibly not. 

Instead, you opted for a simple, black fitted dress paired with a herringbone print blazer. Digging through your appointed ‘things-to-wear-underneath-other things’ drawer, you pulled out the most comfortable bra you owned and a pair of underwear that would most likely not be visible through your outfit. Your pajamas fell in a pile on the floor as you shed each layer, slipping on new pieces of clothing as you went. 

Soon, you stood in front of the full length mirror, looking yourself over before selecting a pair of black heels with herringbone accents to match the jacket. 

You only had one motto: if you looked put together you could act put together. Hopefully that was true, because you would certainly be relying on your acting skills to get through today. 

A knocking sound from the main room caught you off guard, and you walked out with shoes in hand to investigate. It came again, this time discernibly from the entrance. You rushed over and pressed the intercom activation switch. 

“Hello?” you asked through the door, hearing your voice crackle on the other side.

“Good morning ma’am, this is LX-2456 reporting at the request of General Hux.”

You felt the smallest rush of panic at the mention of the General, but kept your voice calm, “Ah, what is it that he needed?”

“I was told you were aware of the nature of his request, ma’am. You were scheduled to meet at 0730 in his office, ma’am.” the trooper replied in a regulated and monotone voice, “I’m to escort you there.”

The message from Hux last night. You never opened it. Shit.

“Right, of course.” you responded quickly, dropping your shoes to the floor and slipping them on, “I’ll just be a moment.” 

There was no response, but you assumed they were waiting outside, so you quickly bounded over to The Study and shoved a loose notebook into your messenger bag. Slinging that over your shoulder, you hurried back into the bedroom, retrieving the datapad and a few hair pins. You dropped the datapad into your bag as well, then deftly pinned your hair back and firmly in place. With one final smoothing of your dress, you opened the door. 

The stormtrooper stood stiffly at attention in the hall, white armor glinting and hiding any sort of identifying features. 

“Good morning,” you said with the brightest smile you could manage, “you said your name is LX-2456, right?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” they gave in conformation and turned on their heel, beginning down the hall, “if you’ll follow me please.”

Without the added distortion of the intercom, the timbre of the trooper’s voice was clear. Despite wearing identical armour, the voice gave her away. The smile you’d forced onto your face before became a bit more genuine at the realization. You hadn’t met another woman outside of Lieutenant Sato--which was not the most pleasant of encounters--since you’d arrived on Starkiller. 

“Oh, I didn’t know they trained female stormtroopers,” you said in your surprise as you followed, immediately regretting the less than nuanced wording. Thankfully, your escort didn’t seem offended, or was just very good at pretending not to be. 

“Originally the program was exclusively for male soldiers, but recruits aren’t as easy to find now, ma’am” she said, tone still expressionless but you could feel the chilliness fading from around her. 

“No, I suppose the First Order can’t really afford to be picky.”

The was a quick, staticy sound: a laugh, “My apologies, ma’am, I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” LX-2456 covered quickly and straightened her shoulders. 

“Oh no, please, you really don’t need to be so formal with me,” you reassured, “I’m here in your service more than you are in mine.” 

She ducted her helmeted head down, and nervous hesitance filled the air around you. After a few steps in silence, the two of you turned a corner and she spoke, “I heard about you, ma’am, from another trooper in my squad.”

“Did you now?” you laughed lightly and glanced over at her, “All good things I hope.”

“He said you wore fancy shoes and shook his hand,” her voice was quiet now but friendlier, much more expressive than before.

“Is your friend younger?” you asked, trying to place him. It must have been one of the men you’d spoken to that night on the ship.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“LX-5781 then,” you said, smiling as you recalled his curious manner, and talking late into the night. “Yes, I must have seemed pretty strange.” 

“He said so, ma’am,” she chuckled again, unconsciously falling into step with the click of your heels, “‘said you asked a bunch of questions about us.”

“The stormtroopers? I suppose I did,” you tilted your head up to look up at the massive ceiling before glancing back at her, “Have you heard anything else?”

“Nothing really...just that you were nice.” 

You glanced down at the floor, unable to keep the grin from your face. This was good. If your job was to be a success, you would need the ‘troopers trust. Rumors just might be your friend in this case. 

“Good. I’m glad I could make a positive first impression.” 

She nodded, as the two of you headed towards an elevator and stepped inside. You took this lapse in conversation as an opportunity to study her from the corner of your eye. Her back was rigid and arms held tightly at her sides, but it seemed the posture was more out of habit than discomfort. You concentrated harder, feeling underneath her nervousness to a small, hesitant spark of something like hope. No, not hope, belief. Maybe in you, maybe not. But it was there where it wasn’t before. 

You flicked your eyes away when LX-2456 shivered under your gaze and inclined her helmet towards you. Before she could say anything, the elevator doors slid open and you stepped forward into the hallway. 

“General Hux’s office is just down the hall,” she said, walking ahead of you. 

“Thank you for taking me up here,” you responded with a small laugh, “I would almost certainly never have found it by myself.”

“Just doing my job, ma’am” 

“The company was greatly appreciated as well.”

She nodded uncertainty, but it felt like she was smiling. When you reached the last door, she stopped and activated the intercom. 

“General Hux, sir, this is LX-2456 reporting.” 

“Come in.” His voice crackled through the speakers while the door opened quietly. The General was seated behind his desk, great coat resting on the chair behind him. He didn’t look up when you walked in. “Standby ‘trooper,” he said sharply to which LX-2456 turned on her heel and stepped back to wait outside. 

“Thank you again, LX-2456!” you called after her, both in gratitude and to spite Hux for his rudeness. The look he gave you after that told you it wasn’t the best move on your part. You remembered the way he’d glared at you the night before. A shiver ran down your spine, but you didn’t regret it. 

“Yes, ma’am.” The ‘troopers voice called from the hallway as the doors shut. 

“Please have a seat, Doctor.” 

Hux motioned to the chair across from him and sat up straighter. You folded your dress as you settled into the ornately designed seat. His eyes looked you up and down, but not in the way he had last evening. There was no forced interested, just calculated observation. You weren’t sure which was worse. 

“Good morning, General.” Despite his less than welcoming nature, you plastered a professional smile on your face. He returned it with a pressed twitch of his lips before turning to pull a datapad from one of the desk drawers. 

“As I said in my message,” he tapped a pattern into the screen before sliding it towards you, “I wanted to explain to you further what we would like you to accomplish in your time on Starkiller.”

“Of course,” you responded and looked down at the tablet, “although, I believe I’m fairly clear on the work I’ll be doing. I trust you received my schedule and notes?”

From this angle you could see the deep circles under his pale, blue eyes. He sighed and leaned his hands on the desk. 

“Yes, I looked over them.” 

“I assumed you’d approved, since I’ll be meeting with the first round of ‘troopers today.”

“Certainly, your scheduling is fine,” he met your gaze and leaned back in his chair again, “but I’m concerned you were not clear on exactly what responsibilities you’ll be filling.”

“General,” you crossed your legs and matched his posture, ”I’m aware that this position, and my field of study, is new to you but I’m perfectly qualified to-”

“Oh no, I didn’t call you here to question your capabilities, Doctor,” Hux interrupted with a silencing wave, “I simply mean that, your ambition is admirable, it seems to be too much work outside your investigation into the affliction spreading through our troops.” 

“I find it to be a completely reasonable amount, General.” 

The vein in Hux’s neck was bulging and you could feel him becoming more irritated every time you opened your mouth. But that wasn’t going to stop you from putting an end to his underestimation. 

“I see I am going to have to say this plainly,” he said, a bit of his slicked back hair falling into his eyes, “I, myself, do the job of ten officers but there comes a time when the workload is too much for just one person.” He quickly fixed his hair and narrowed his eyes at the shocked look on your face. 

“What do you mean one person?” you asked, a creeping realization forming in your mind.

“Lieutenant Sato informed you during the interview that you would be heading our newly instated psychiatric unit,” he said slowly, tilting his head in confusion. 

“Yes. As the department head. So what do you mean ‘one person?”

“Well, yes you’re the department head by default seeing as it is a department of _one _.”__

__Your mind went completely blank for a moment. And then it was filled with the sounds of internalized, screaming rage._ _

__“What?” was all that came out of your mouth. Hux stared blankly back and raised his eyebrows._ _

__“You are Starkiller’s only psychologist, Doctor.”_ _

__“WHAT?”_ _

__You could control the outrage no longer. To hell with professionalism. This was insane. How had you never been informed of this? You had read that damn contract cover to cover and never had there been any mention heading on this project alone. Damn straight this was too much work for one person--well maybe not you with enough coffee supplied--but certainly too much for one healthy, not sleep deprived, person._ _

__“Please calm down, Doctor.” Hux flinched a bit when you raised your voice but did not reprimand you which seemed out of character for him. In fact, his behavior this whole meeting seemed fairly out of character, at least for the short time that you’d known him._ _

__You thought back to the dark bags under his eyes and the hair that had fallen out of place. The wrinkles in his uniform indicated that he likely hadn’t changed since last night. Hux was exhausted. You knew the feeling, so you tried to be sympathetic. “My apologies, General. But, as you can see, I was under the impression I would have a department to head.”_ _

__“I suppose that was not made explicitly clear, but in any case, you came highly recommended to us. It simply didn’t seem necessary to higher anyone else.”_ _

__You could feel your face turning read, despite your best efforts. Only on very rare occasions did you become visibly upset. People overlooking the intricacies of your work was one of them. “I’m responsible for the mental health of _thousands _of your soldiers. How do you expect me to do that on my own?”___ _

____“I’m certain you can figure it out,” Hux said with a thin-lipped smile and gestured to the forgotten datapad, “not that I wouldn’t be happy to discuss the staffing of your department with you, but that isn’t why you’re here.” You leveled him with a venomous glare of your own, which he chose to ignore. “Would you like to be briefed on the current intel we have on this case or shall I assume I’m too ignorant to understand that as well?”_ _ _ _

____“Fine.”_ _ _ _

____“Good choice,” he responded and began pulling up data on the screen in front of you, “now, you can see here a list of the most commonly reported symptoms, as well as treatments and patient charts. I’ll have all this sent to you if you’d like.”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, I would,” you replied sharply, “Do you have any figures on exactly how prevalent instances of these symptoms are or a list of possible causes? Environmental or otherwise, anything information is helpful.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sure all of that is included in these files,” he said, packing away the datapad and focusing back on the papers strewn about his desk, “You should really take any other questions up with Doctor Murdock.”_ _ _ _

____You pursed your lips at his blatant rudeness but spoke as politely as possible. You weren’t the most pleasant person to be around when running on fumes either. “Alright then, where could I find them?”_ _ _ _

____“Well, she’s been working field for a mission recently due to some...unfortunate staff shortages.”_ _ _ _

____Hux trailed off, shuffling through documents strewn about the desk. You were actually glad he didn’t elaborate this time. It was clear that he was finished with this conversation, but you would not allow yourself to be brushed off that easily. “So how exactly, do you suppose, I ask her then?” You crossed your legs, refusing to stand from your seat without an answer._ _ _ _

____“I can’t imagine you wouldn’t be able to figure that out as well,” he paused and finally locked eyes with you once more, “I know you’re highly qualified.”_ _ _ _

____The jab was not missed and was certainly not appreciated. But you would not allow yourself to lose anymore composure, so you held back the many biting remarks waiting to bounce from your tongue and stood._ _ _ _

____“Thank you for the files, General.”_ _ _ _

____Hux only hummed in response and pressed the activation switch on his monitor, opening the door. You made sure your heels let out a sharp click as you turned and left. The door slid closed with a deafening thud. LX-2456 was standing just outside, strictly at attention as she waited._ _ _ _

____“Where to, ma’am?” the ‘trooper asked, her shoulders dropping down from their rigid position._ _ _ _

____You smiled a bit at the gesture. “Well, since I’m out, do you know if there’s a staff room in the Medical Wing?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes, ma’am.”_ _ _ _

____“Would you mind showing me there?,” you sighed and pressed two fingers to your temple, “I need a cup of coffee.”_ _ _ _

____You felt her smile, while she turned, “Of course, ma’am, right this way.” LX-2456 turned the opposite way you’d come and started off._ _ _ _

____She walked briskly, but you managed to keep up. “So,” you began, “is he always like that?”_ _ _ _

____Your guide seemed more relaxed but still appeared a bit shaken by your casual manner of speaking. “The General, ma’am?”_ _ _ _

____“Yes,” you replied, taking in the shock that surrounded her at your inquiry with a chuckle, “ah, I suppose you’re not allowed to sound disrespectful.”_ _ _ _

____“No, ma’am.” She kept her head facing forward down the hall as you entered another elevator, this time going down._ _ _ _

____“Don’t worry,” you looked around the small space conspiratorially, “I won’t tell.”_ _ _ _

____LX-2456 stood in conflicted silence for a moment before sighing, “What do you mean by ‘like that’, ma.am?”_ _ _ _

____“Bossy, rude, dismissive, et cetera…” You ticked off the offenses on your fingers and your companion let out a staticy laugh._ _ _ _

____“Yes, he is.”_ _ _ _

____“Hmm, well that’ll certainly make things interesting.”_ _ _ _

____The elevator door opened and the sounds of indistinct chatter could be heard. It was odd. Up until now the base had been mostly silent. But, upon stepping into the hall, you saw many orderlies in white coats bustling through the wide corridors. Through the glass walls on either side, more Doctors were visible, running about from bed to bed and down branching hallways._ _ _ _

____“Follow me please, ma’am.” LX-2456 said as she headed left through the medical personnel. You followed close behind her until she stopped at a wide doorway, “This is the closest medical staff lounge.”_ _ _ _

____“Ah, thank you, LX-2456.”_ _ _ _

____She simply nodded and offered a small salute. “Is there anything else you need, ma’am?”_ _ _ _

____“No, I think I can find my way from here.”_ _ _ _

____“Then I’m dismissed?”_ _ _ _

____“Oh, am I supposed to say that?”_ _ _ _

____The puff of static that signaled her laugh filled the small space between you and the door, “Yes, ma’am, it’s protocol.”_ _ _ _

____“You certainly have a lot of those…” You trailed off, shaking your head but complying none the less, “Well then, you’re dismissed, and thank you again.”_ _ _ _

____“Of course ma’am.”_ _ _ _

____With that, LX-2456 turned and headed off towards the elevator and out of sight. On your own once more, you pressed the doors activation switch and entered. Inside was the same durasteel as the hall but the walls were white instead of a dismal grey. There were cabinets lining the far side of the room along with a refrigerator and counter. Three, black, circular tables filled the rest of the space and were occupied by a few staff members in various dress._ _ _ _

____A woman in red scrubs at the nearest table looked up when you entered. Her skin was dark against the fabric of her uniform and her hair fell in braids down her back. She looked quizzically at you, but her face remained kind._ _ _ _

____“Hello there, I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Her voice was deep and slow, like pushing a spoon through honey._ _ _ _

____You smiled at her, and stepped further into the room, “No, I’m, um, new here.” The words left your mouth slightly jumbled, but she just returned the smile._ _ _ _

____“Ah, I see. It’s nice to meet you then, I’m Samara.” She gestured the the man next to her, “And this is Felix.” When he didn’t look up from the papers in front of him, Samara gave a hard jab to his ribs._ _ _ _

____“What? Oh, yes, hello.” Felix greeted you absentmindedly, his voice high in comparison. Blonde curls obscured most of his face which was still directed at the documents. You chuckled at the interaction and introduced yourself._ _ _ _

____“Which department are you assigned to?” Samara asked, with a distasteful look at the man next to her._ _ _ _

____“Psychiatric.” You responded simply, noting how her brows knitted slightly._ _ _ _

____“Ah, I had hoped you would be up in Anaesthetics,” she covered whatever judgements she had made smoothly. Without looking up, Felix added a short, “Oh Maker, yes. We’re terribly understaffed.”_ _ _ _

____“Sorry to disappoint.” You laughed politely and glanced quickly around the room, “I, uh, don’t mean to be rude but is there any-”_ _ _ _

____“Coffee? Yes, it’s over there in the pot,” Samara interrupted with a knowing smile and pointed behind her at a glass kettle, “Feel free to use one of the thermoses.”_ _ _ _

____You thanked her with a relieved sigh and made your way over to the counter, pulling a thermos from against the wall and filling it. The cup remained cold in your hand, sporting its First Order insignia. Next to the coffee was a tray of bagels marked with a note which indicated to ‘please take one’. You did. Gladly._ _ _ _

____The few other staff remained oblivious as you turned to leave once again, making sure you said goodbye to Samara and Felix as you passed._ _ _ _

____“It was nice to meet you, Doctor,” Samara said, tone smooth and low even as she called to you from across the room. Felix spoke up just as you passed through the door._ _ _ _

____“Katherine will be elated she’s finally got here,” he said, the statement thick with sarcasm. Based on the yelp he gave when the door slid shut, Samara had given him another elbow to the ribs. You thought that was most likely a common occurrence._ _ _ _

____With your heels making their normal, comforting click, you made your way towards the office Hux had shown you last night. Once the door came into view, you popped the bagel into your mouth, using your newly free hand to open the it._ _ _ _

____The office was the same as it had been the night before. Standing in it still filled you with a sense of awe. But, reality had set in a bit since that morning, so it was easier to overlook the grandeur. You set the thermos on your desk taking a bite of the bagel before laying it down as well. Slinging the your bag onto the floor, you began unpacking its contents. First, the notebook which you sat next to the monitor and then the picture encased in its wooden frame. You placed it carefully opposite the notebook, mostly hidden from view. Finally you removed the datapad, opening the most recent message from Hux. It was blank save for the attached files from your meeting which you downloaded to look over later._ _ _ _

____Screw Hux, you had patients to see._ _ _ _

____So, instead, you opened your schedule and scrolled to find today’s date making note of your first appointment._ _ _ _

____“TJ-9923…” you mused to yourself, setting the datapad into its connection dock. Sliding the large monitors keyboard over, you scanned through the documents containing files for every afflicted stormtrooper. It didn’t take long to find the one you were looking for. A picture was displayed right next to the identification code._ _ _ _

____It was a man, with shortly cropped red hair and dark eyes. You skimmed over most of the physical description, moving quickly to his attached medical files._ _ _ _

____“Exhibits violent outbursts, hallucinations....paranoid behaviors,” you mumbled as you read. He’d been hospitalized for two weeks after engaging in combat on a mission which had been blacked out from the file. “Released after treatment for severe concussion….”_ _ _ _

____You hummed to yourself, taking a sip of coffee and another bite of bagel. Ideas had already begun forming in your head. Half rememberings of textbook pages and lectures swam around haphazardly as you began forming hypotheses. Despite the ample information ready for you to mentally sift through, nothing had come together into a solid deduction as of yet. It would be easier, you supposed, when he was here in person. Face to face and all that...well, face to helmet._ _ _ _

____God, you hated those damn helmets. It was near impossible to form any sort of connection with a person whose face you’d never seen. You’d gathered at least by now, that it was mildly inappropriate to ask stormtroopers to remove the helmets--most likely due to protocol--but at this point it seemed better to risk being unorthodox._ _ _ _

____New rule: “No Helmets In the Office”._ _ _ _

____It was then, that you heard the knock on the door. Three taps, then a crackle over the com system, “This is TJ-9923 reporting, ma’am.”_ _ _ _

____You jumped a bit in surprise and tapped the activation for your com when it popped up on the monitor, “Of course, come right in.” You quickly selected the option on the control pad to open the door and TJ-9923 entered slowly, standing at attention as the door closed behind him._ _ _ _

____He was large to say the least. With the other troopers it had been hard to tell them apart. Extreme age gaps and differentiating genders had been all but impossible to discern from the white, plastoid uniforms. Unlike the others, though, TJ-9923 had visibly wide shoulders and a long, thickly built torso which left him standing at an impressive height. Even in your heels, you could tell he would dwarf you by comparison._ _ _ _

____You attempted to compose your quickly fraying nerves. This was it. Rumors have already started spreading about you and from what you’d discerned, they were good. The connotation of your relationship with the ‘troopers was going to basically be solidified within the week and you needed to nail the first impressions._ _ _ _

____With a confident and welcoming smile plastered on your face, you swept a hand to the chair adjecn the desk, “Good morning TJ-9923, please remove your helmet and have a seat.”_ _ _ _

____Instantly the room was filled with a pressing sense of confusion and shock. The trooper didn’t move forward, but turned his head towards you slowly, “I’m sorry ma’am, it’s-”_ _ _ _

____“Protocol?”, you interrupted him with a cleverly placed roll of your eyes, “Yes, I’m sure it is. But it can’t be pleasant to hold a conversation wearing that.” You felt some of the shock subside at your statement, but he still made no move to remove the helmet so you added swiftly, “Think of this as any other medical appointment. I’m assuming you aren’t required to remain in uniform for those?”_ _ _ _

____“No, ma’am.” He responded quietly and finally took a few steps to seat himself in the chair across from you. Slowly he raised his hands to the airlocks of his helmet and released them with a hiss. His face was nervous, eyes darting and unsure of what to focus on when they were visible._ _ _ _

____You reached your hand across the desk and he looked warily at you. “It's nice to meet you, TJ-9923, I’m your new Doctor.” You kept your voice level and calm, watching as he sheepishly gripped your hand and shook it._ _ _ _

____“It’s, uh, nice to meet you too, ma’am.” He answered unsurely, fidgeting in his chair._ _ _ _

____“Please, speak freely, no need for any formalities or ‘protocol’” you said, settling back in your chair and pulling up a blank document to take notes, “we’re here to talk about you, so if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, feel free to tell me.”_ _ _ _

____He swallowed nervously and nodded, his eyes flicking over to your monitor screen when you began typing his identification and the time of appointment. “Oh, if it’s alright with you, I’d like to keep some notes just to keep everything fresh. Is that okay?” You asked, his eyes finally meeting yours. The air cleared somewhat; he was still confused but you thought he was starting to like you._ _ _ _

____“Yes, ma’am.” He said in the same, quiet voice he’d used earlier. It was odd, for such a large, intimidating man, he spoke so softly, it was almost a whisper. The contrast was deafening._ _ _ _

____You chuckled a bit and offered him an apologetic smile, “Unfortunately, I am going to have to ask you some questions that will require a bit more talking on your end, TJ-9923.”_ _ _ _

____“Wha-” the ‘trooper began but cut himself off quickly, unused to speaking without being directly asked to do so._ _ _ _

____“Go ahead,” you encouraged and gestured for him to continue._ _ _ _

____“What kind of...questions, ma’am?”_ _ _ _

____“Let’s see,” you began, “mostly things like how you’re feeling, discussion about any trouble you might be having.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh. Well, I don’t have any injuries, ma’am.”_ _ _ _

____“No, no.” you shook your head, “sorry, I should have been clearer. I meant how you’re feeling emotionally.”_ _ _ _

____“Oh.”_ _ _ _

____“So, now that we’re on the subject, what brings you here?”_ _ _ _

____He paused for a moment, brows knit together, “I received orders from my squad leader.”_ _ _ _

____“It seems like we’re going to have to work on these clarity issues, my apologies, TJ-9923.” His face flushed read and you quickly explained, “I was referring to symptoms or cognitive problems you may be experiencing.”_ _ _ _

____“I had a concussion.” His voice was quieter now, if that was possible and his eyes wandered the floor, as if searching for something in the ocean of grey durasteel._ _ _ _

____You leaned forward on your elbows over the desktop, tilting your head down to meet his gaze, “But it wasn’t just a concussion, was it?”_ _ _ _

____He stared at you for a long time. You took this opportunity to read him further, feeling repression and swirling anxiety the deeper you pushed. TJ-9923 shivered in his seat but finally whispered a response, “No.”_ _ _ _

____“Would you like to tell me about it?”_ _ _ _

____You could see the confliction in his face, something brewing and waiting to be let out. Then, a timid smile crossed the troopers face and he nodded slightly._ _ _ _

____Good, you desperately wanted to know what had happened to have made his voice so small. And you desperately wanted to help him get it back._ _ _ _

____***_ _ _ _

____You discovered over the next forty five minutes or so, that once TJ-9923 finally got talking, he never stopped. He was funny too. Always cracking jokes and instantly covering his mouth with a hand until you laughed and assured him he could say whatever he pleased. In between these happy moments though, you learned some other, extremely troubling details._ _ _ _

____He’d been suffering from nightmares for weeks now, even before the head injury. The dreams had gotten to be so frequent that he rarely slept. When prompted, the ‘trooper had admitted that he’d failed his latest weapon’s competency testing. Quietly, he explained that he heard his fellow squad members start to fire and the blaster turned to lead in his hands._ _ _ _

____He said the noise made his heart stop beating._ _ _ _

____His records showed that he’d been the top marksman in his squadron up until a few months ago. You were starting to form a picture of what had happened. During your time at the university, you had done a fair amount of research into the effects of violence on the human psyche. This was beginning to sound eerily familiar._ _ _ _

____You finalized the notes from your session with TJ-9923 and closed the document, making sure to transfer a copy to your data pad as well._ _ _ _

____The start of a hypothesis was forming as you mulled over your first appointment and waited for the next ‘trooper to arrive._ _ _ _

____But there was no way of knowing whether you were on the right track at this point. A sample size of one wasn’t much of a sample at all._ _ _ _

____***  
The door slid shut with a comforting swish after your last patient of the day stepped into the hall. You took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as you lowered your head to the desktop. According to the clock on your monitor it was just a bit past seven o’clock. Or 1900 hours as the ‘troopers would say. You supposed you ought to get used to military time if you were going to be living on a military base. _ _ _ _

____The soft rumbling of your stomach prompted you to lift your head from the desk. You had been seeing patients practically nonstop all day, minus an hour you took to wander back down to the staff lounge around noon to fill up on coffee and find more food. But that had been almost seven hours ago…_ _ _ _

____The cafeteria had, as of yet, eluded you. Thankfully, Samara, who you had run into on your way back to your office, had graciously offered to show you the closests mess area tomorrow afternoon. Thinking about the encounter made you feel a swell of pride at the attempt to ‘make friends’. Since your time at the University had been largely spent locked away in a lab or the library, your only human contact had been with the department head and some various other researchers. In short it was limited, and you liked it that way._ _ _ _

____Maybe this time you wouldn’t find your coworkers so...close minded._ _ _ _

____Your stomach gurgled again and you were glad it had chosen to stay silent during your appointments. All you wanted at the moment was a nice cup of tea, a long shower, and something deep fried._ _ _ _

____As far as the first two went, you could definitely sort them out. Unfortunately, the sandwich you’d taken from the staff lounge earlier would have to do as junk food._ _ _ _

____With that in mind, you quickly typed out a few closing sentences in your last patient document and finalized some organization as well as transferring copies of all the notes to your datapad. All that done, you slid the tablet into your bag along with the empty coffee thermos and stood. Walking across the room to the door, you surveyed it one last time, making a mental note to bring in some throw blankets for the back on the armchair and loveseat._ _ _ _

____With that, you switched the lights off using the keypad on the wall and stepped into the hallway. The doors closed and you made sure to type in your new security code to lock them for the night._ _ _ _

____Your heels clicked as you started towards the elevator, pressing its activation switch and then selecting the floor for your quarters. You’d have to pass through the hall with the view port on your way back which was not something you were keen to do, but there wasn’t much to be done about that. More so, you wanted to get back as quickly as possible and take a nice, long, hot shower and mull over all the appointments you’d had today._ _ _ _

____Ideas and various diagnoses were still floating aimlessly about inside your skull, but something about how the room filled with steam and the water flowing all around you always helped to sort things out._ _ _ _

____You did all your best thinking in the shower._ _ _ _

____The elevator door opened and you collected yourself before walking into the hall. It was deserted, as all the halls had been outside of Sector A, but just the memory of your escapades the night before made it all the more eerie._ _ _ _

____You walked down the corridor and turned a corner. The ceilings rose here, and the view port cast a soft, grey light on the floor. The man in the mask, cloaked with black came to mind again. You were walking the same path he’d come the night before, but now the space echoed with light clicks instead of the stomping of metal-plated boots._ _ _ _

____When you came to the view port, you paused to glance outside, still holding onto some small hope for a glimpse of the pines. But the sky remained stormy, and snowfall blocked everything from sight. You sighed, but continued on slowly._ _ _ _

____After walking a few more steps, you heard it._ _ _ _

____Directly behind you in the corridor, the sound of footsteps echoed out, reverberating on the high ceilings. Heavy, metal-plated footsteps._ _ _ _

____You felt an immediate wave of panic. It was irrational, you knew that, but your heart rate jumped, pounding in your ears and your palms went slick with sweat. Your mind, easily remaining detached from your physical body forced you not to turn and look or burst into a dead sprint down the hall. It was completely illogical to give into such baseless impulses._ _ _ _

____So you reasoned that it was most likely a ‘trooper, out on rounds or changing shifts. There were hundreds of thousands of people on Starkiller, it wouldn’t been uncommon to run into someone even in the late evening._ _ _ _

____Fighting back against the adrenaline in your system, you continued a steady pace down the hall. Although, the feeling of eyes on your back persisted as you walked. It wasn’t until you got to the end of the corridor and turned again that the footsteps behind you got increasingly louder._ _ _ _

____And faster._ _ _ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is really late. I know. I'm sorry. But I was a bit busy graduating from high school and dealing with college shit so I'm say I think that's an okay excuse. Anyway, its a suuuper long update so at least there's that. Like this was literally 22 pages on my google doc. Lastly, thank you for reading, as always, and please leave me some feedback in the comments. I love hearing from readers and receiving critics!


	5. Preamble: Article Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever is rejected from the self, appears in the world as an event.”  
> ― C.G. Jung

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last installment, reader began her first of many days on Starkiller Base. She encountered stressful meetings, Hux unsurprisingly being a dick, and the discovery that she's head of a department of one. Sounds like a great first day to me. But things are about to get so, so much worse for our beloved heroine....

You whipped your head around faster than a bolt firing from its blaster. 

But the hallway was silent and empty behind you. You hummed nervously to yourself before turning slowly back around and heading down the next hall. It was probably just some ‘trooper late to his his shift and you were being paranoid.The footsteps hadn’t sounded like some far off ‘trooper passing the corridor, but what other explanation could there be? There were no branching paths for someone to hide in. No reason for anyone to be hiding from you besides. 

You thought about calling out behind you, but decided against it and, instead, brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose. A headache was forming around your temples as you walked, coming up on the hall where your quarters were located. It felt like someone was pressing as hard as they could on the sides of your head. Long fingers wrapping all the way around your skull and applying a crushing force to the bone. 

You thought maybe it was from dehydration, recalling that you hadn’t had any water yet today, and made a note to drink some when you got back. Really you just wanted to crawl into bed and never get up again, but that wasn’t a viable option at this point. 

The door for your quarters came into view accompanied by the sound of boots on durasteel marching a steady pace from farther down the hall. You stopped just in front of your room and peered down the corridor but, once again, saw no one. Despite being alone, it felt distinctly as though someone was standing at the end of the hall, eyes trained on you. It left your whole body tingly nervously, similar to walking up stairs in the dark and feeling as though some creature was waiting to pull you down into the depths of the night. You quickened the pace of your fingers typing in the door’s security code much like a child taking stairs two at a time to escape the demons waiting just behind them. The door slid open, and with one more wary glance down the hall, you stepped inside. 

Bending down to slip off your shoes, you felt the pressuring building in your head once more. You pushed two fingers into your temples and mumbled to yourself, continuing across the room the the kitchen, “Damn, I really should get some sleep.” You chuckled while filling a glass with water from the tap. 

Sleep deprivation does weird things. You knew this first hand, so if indeed the footsteps had been a figment of your imagination, at least you could guess why. 

Or it was a ghost. 

You laughed aloud at the thought, a residual superstition from your childhood which you had never quite believed and which had never quite gone away, and stripped off your blazer. 

Starkiller _would_ be haunted. 

Making your way into the bathroom, you flicked on the lights and turned the water to its hottest setting. Steam began to fill the room prompting you to remember why you’d wanted to shower in the first place. You mind wandered, annoyingly, to Hux and your ‘department of one’. It looked like you’d be on your own for awhile since the head doctor--whose name you had already forgotten--was gone. In that case, it was best to get to work rather than complain about the circumstances, lest you fall behind on your newly massive, personal list of responsibilities.

The steam was warm and sticky on your skin as you leaned over the vanity to undo your hair from its pins. You were getting the frustrating sensation that you’d read a theory about just these sorts of symptoms before but where exactly you had seen it was eluding you. And that meant a long, drawn out search through all your notes.

Fun. 

You would have to put off reconstructing your sleep schedule for awhile. Of course, since your professional success was a far higher priority than your mental and physical wellbeing. Well, Hux seemed to think so. 

At least you got to take a shower. 

With your hair free from the pins, you unzipped the back of your dress, letting it fall the the floor joined soon by your underwear and bra. The tile was cold and slick under your feet but the water was heavenly. Your lower back ached from sitting in a chair all day, but the warm water washed away the stiffness and pent up frustration with your persistently ignorant boss along with the floral-scented suds.

The bathroom was soon filled with the scents of lavender and mint. Soap was the only thing you ever really ‘splurged’ on. You weren’t entirely sure how you were going to go about feeding that addiction on Starkiller but you tried to ignore the thought for now. Unfortunately, your life had developed far more pressing complications than a lack of luxury body wash. 

When your hair was washed and all the soap had been rinsed from your skin, you shut the water off and reached up to grab a towel from the wooden shelf before stepping out. The fluffy white fabric was soft as you rubbed yourself down and hung it over the tile shower wall. Before leaving, you stopped to gently massage some light purple lotion into your skin, leaving it with a sparkling glow in the bright light. 

Wanting to get out of the humid air left from the shower, you walked out towards your bedroom to grab some clothes. From the dresser you selected long t-shirt sporting the University’s crest and some cotton shorts. The shirt fell comfortably to your thighs, its collar loose at the neck. You stood, staring at yourself in the closet mirror for a few moments. Clothed in your dress of a shirt and bare legs sticking out from beneath you looked so painfully small. Your body drowned in the fabric like child playing dress up with their parents clothes. 

You thought about the man in the mask. Thought of yourself through his eyes. Of how you must have looked so weak, so inconsequential in comparison to his massiveness. You didn’t like the image. It reminded you why you dressed like an over compensated lawyer. The man from the hallway had his own form of intimidation, but so did you. Being seen without it was not a comforting feeling. You decided it was best to forget about the encounter. 

Stepping out of the closet, you wandered back into the main room, grabbing some notebooks from The Study along with your datapad. It was old fashioned to still keep written records but the act of writing something with your own hands always helped you to remember. Although, it also may have just been the nostalgia.

It reminded you of when you were young. No tech, just pens and pencils and cheap paper. 

You set everything down on the coffee table of the living room and plodded into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Unfortunately, you were still without any coffee, so tea would have to do for now. 

It didn’t take long for the electric kettle to boil and you poured some of the water into a chipped mug along with a some loose leaf tea in bag. The swirling orange and brown spread like cream in hot coffee. Or blood through water. 

When it was finished steeping, you walked carefully down the steps and lowered yourself onto the sectional. Pulling a quilt off the back of the sofa, you spread it over your legs, settling in with your notebooks and datapad. Your eyes began to quickly skim through the papers, taking down notes on whatever seemed relevant, and occasionally stopping for sips of tea. 

Every now and again you would read something which seemed pertinent and go off in search for more on the topic. This would lead you through any number of textbooks and volumes only to find yourself at dead end. A dead end with large flashing ‘wrong way’ signs on either side. These, of course, were necessary, but would have been exponentially more helpful if placed farther ahead in the maze of information you were attempting to navigate. 

Sadly, most of the time it was impossible to proactively see you were headed for the wrong answer until you got to it.

Hindsight and all that. 

After the four hour mark, you started to nod off. The floor was littered with notebooks now and the mug sat abandoned on the table. 

Your head lolled back against the cushions momentarily as you tried to keep your eyes open. Only seconds later, and your eyes were quite capable of staying open on their own as a loud banging erupted from the front door. In an instant, you jumped sticking the landing in an unceremonious pile of limbs next to the sofa. You brought a hand to your head, trying to dull the pounding, and mumbled to yourself as you scrambled up to answer the door.

“What in the ever loving fuck…?” You whispered as your pressed the activation switch and looked out into the hall. 

The empty hall. 

What.

In front of you was nothing but the cold, grey durasteel walls of the corridor and no one in either direction. 

“What the hell?” you asked aloud this time but you were only met with the sound of footsteps. 

But this time they didn’t stop when you turned to look down the hall. They got louder. The pounding sound of metal-plated boots sprinting towards you echoed through the corridor. 

You slammed a fist over the activation switch and the doors slid shut. Your breathing was quick and shallow as you slid down the wall to the floor, trying to calm yourself. The horrible pressure in your head was back, pounding against your skull like a bass drum.

Eventually you found the will to pull yourself back up, just standing and staring at the door for a while before deciding it was probably best you get some sleep. 

The notes still lay in a heap on the floor but you left them, only stopping to dim the lamps before heading into your bedroom. The mattress was soft under you as you burrowed into the comforter and closed your eyes. 

Sleep deprivation can do such weird shit. Maybe you should take some notes. 

***

The next few weeks went on much the same. 

Every morning, you’d drag yourself out of bed at some ungodly hour to prep for clients after staying awake all night to dig through old notebooks and texts in hopes of coming up with a working theory for Hux. Who continued to be as evasive and rude as ever. Then, somehow, you’d manage to get yourself looking presentable, hide the ever growing bags under your eyes and draw from some inner force of will you didn’t know you had to wander down to the staff lounge for coffee. 

On your way through Sector A, there would be phantom footsteps following you down the hall or breathing on your neck as you sat in your office rushing to finish patient notes before the next ‘trooper showed up. The latter of which generally ended with you jumping out of your chair and landing less than gracefully on the floor. 

Finally, you’d find the time to run to the cafeteria for lunch. Samara had kindly helped you locate it a few days after you had arrived, for which you were eternally grateful and intended to remind her of that fact every time you had nothing else to contribute to conversation.

On your way back, of course, there would be the compulsory shadow figures trailing you the whole time, hiding in the corners of your vision just out of sight. But however much your lack of sleep had begun to affect your sanity, it also made you too tired to care. As always, you had more important things to worry about. Mainly thousands of soldiers who, you were quickly discovering, had absolutely no voice in any matter concerning their well being outside of you. As long as you were fit to work, you had far more important things to worry about.

Upon return to your office, you’d sit down for even more appointments, plastering on your best smile for the ‘troopers that came in. Wishing more than anything you could tell them they’d be okay. But you couldn’t. So instead, you’d sit despising yourself for not knowing how to help them yet. Or if you ever could. Then you’d clear your head and smile for the next patient, making sure to commit their number to memory. 

After that the cycle varied. 

Sometimes, Samara would stop by your office, occasionally accompanied by Felix. Then two or three of you would grab dinner in the mess hall. The more constant of them would always try to convince you into staying longer in her deep, honey-smooth voice, but she was generally unsuccessful. You couldn’t really work out why she had taken such an interest in you, but you rarely had the time to think about it. 

Even your thoughts ran on a schedule. 

Sometimes, you contemplated mentioning your symptoms during the rare times that you did give in to Samara’s persuasions. Especially when they escalated from simple auditory and minor visual hallucinations, which did not fit in well with your original diagnosis of sleep deprivation. 

 

You sat with her now now mulling it all over. Staring into the coffee in front of you and tuning out Samara’s complaints about Felix’s attention span, you thought about Tuesday night the week before.

It was past eight o’clock and you had just gotten back from a late dinner alone. Stripping your clothes off layer by layer and leaving them spread across the floor, you made your way into the bathroom. 

You didn’t have the time for a shower before throwing yourself back into research, so instead you ran water from the sink to wash your face. You worked the soap into your skin, trying your best to scrub away the weariness, and leaned over the basin to wash it away. As you closed your eyes, a familiar crushing sensation formed at your temples and you pressed your eyes tighter together from the pain. Splashing water from your cupped hands, you happened to glance at your face in the mirror. 

Blood.

Sticky, warm, red liquid pooled in the sink and stained your hands. It dripped slowly from your hairline down off your chin. The iron smell of it was everywhere, you didn’t breath for fear of gagging.

But then, one blink. And it was gone. 

Water dripped from the tip of your nose and onto the vanity. You quickly shut off the faucet and dried your face, walking to your bedroom for pajamas and then settling into the The Study. You willed your hands not to shake as you pulled a volume from the shelf. There was no time to waste on worrying. 

You sat down in your arm chair and ignored the pounding in your skull, jotting down some notes you’d left unfinished the night before. 

That was only one of the more concerning episodes you’d had since the hallucinations had escalated. 

Just yesterday you had been making your way back from the staff lounge, a full thermos of coffee in hand, when your head began pounding, as if someone had dug knives into the sides of your brain. 

Then suddenly, a flash of red light erupted from down the hall. There was the distinctive sound of blaster fire and then an intense, burning pain spread outwards from the center of your chest. You stumbled backwards from the impact, unable to breathe from its force. 

Everything was pain and confusion. You’re braining running a mile a minute. _I’ve just been shot_ , you thought. 

_**I’ve just been shot**_. 

Quickly you brought a hand up to feel the damage, stop any bleeding, but the only thing you felt was the fabric of your blouse soaked in coffee. The only burning coming from the hot liquid on your skin. 

Taking a deep breathe, you looked down the corridor, already knowing you’d find it empty. At least that meant nobody had seen you stumbling around like an idiot. 

You buttoned your blazer enough to cover most of the coffee stains and pulled a small notebook from the pocket. After some of the more intense episodes, you’d begun to take note of them. Since there hadn’t really been any documentation of this sort of thing in any of the studies you had ever read, you might as well keep some notes of your own. 

It was particularly interesting that this hallucination had involved a physical pain response. You made note of it, thinking maybe you should put together a paper after a few more data collections and send it to the University. It wasn’t like you could just tell anyone about it. 

Curiously, you wondered what Samara would say if you did. She sat in front of you now, stirring her coffee and chatting waving her hands here or there every now and again. At this point, you were amazed she’d made an effort to talk to you at all. Your obvious preoccupation could not be that appealing in a conversation partner. You looked at her as she spoke. Long braids fell across her shoulder and red scrubs clung to her muscular arms. 

She met your gaze momentarily, her dark eyes crinkling at the edges, but you were only reminded of the day you’d met. The judgement behind her glance, the disbelief. You hadn’t blamed her then, and you still wouldn’t now. Your practice was just not something people understood. To be fair, a lot of people in your field didn’t completely understand it. But even if you were to tell her what was going on, she’d just assume you were just crazier than she already thought you were. 

It was a challenge to get people here to take you seriously as it was. Spilling the beans on this certainly wouldn’t help your image. 

You would just have to come up with your own diagnosis. 

Samara continued on talking about some case she’d worked on with a woman named Katherine, and you continued only half listening.

It was possible that you were suffering from some kind of stress induced psychosis, a brief psychotic disorder may be a good name for it. You made a mental note to write that down. It would explain the hallucinations but your thoughts remained fairly structured, although you probably wouldn’t be able to tell if you were being delusional anyway. 

In that case, you may have been right the first time. Extreme sleep-deprivation could be an option as well, especially since you were sleeping even less these days. Not for lack of trying to keep a better schedule on your part, but the long series of nightmares were hard to get around. While it was possible that these were also a symptom, it felt like, at least to you, that they served as a trigger. 

The dreams mainly focused on your past. Things you hadn’t thought about in ages. All of which coincided with the next hallucination. They didn’t feel like normal, random nightmares. It was as if they were sifting through your memories, dredging up everything you’d tucked away. In a sense, it reminded you of the odd recurring dreams you experienced occasionally. Mostly in that, it didn’t feel like your brain was the one creating whatever you saw. 

And then there was the headaches. They preceded every episode which immediately indicated that they may also be a trigger as well. You had experienced your fair share of headaches in your lifetime and these did not feel anything like what you were used to. 

It sounded crazy when you really thought about it, but the only way you could think to describe them was like a hand pushing its fingers deep into the sides of you skull. Like it was digging into your mind itself, searching for something. 

You thought back to your first night on the base, the man in the mask, the feeling of leather gripping against the back of your neck and across your temples. It was almost like that. Almost. 

None of it made sense, but you knew you were right. People didn’t read minds outside of Force users, of course, but there was no possible way that your mental degradation had to do with that. 

The Force was some big, greater power-y thing that you never really bought into. It felt narcissistic to think that, somehow, you were a part of it. 

But whatever was going on, it was beginning to feel big and greater power-y. 

***

It was coming up on three months since you’d first arrived on Starkiller and roughly three months of constant mental barrage. While a situation such as this may have driven any normally functioning person half insane by now. 

Bold of the powers that be to assume that you were a normally functioning person. Or in fact a person at all, as Samara so kindly pointed out when informed of your daily workload. 

You were sat, mulling the whole situation over in The Study, during one of the rare evenings you gave yourself a break. Mostly so you could think about how royally you’d screwed yourself in taking this position, fight off any lingering feelings of failure or hopelessness, and generally release all pent up stress and/or worries that you were actually going crazy due to the previously mentioned items. 

This was usually accomplished through quiet staring into the opposite wall sometimes accompanied by soft screaming into the void of perpetual incompetency opening up before you. 

Then you were ready to get back to your research, fully equipped to fool even yourself into believing that you had a clue what you were doing. 

Tonight, you decided, would require some tea to help the process along. So you made your way to the kitchen, running the kettle and selecting a pleasantly worn mug. You hoped that the calming effects of the tea may distract you from the constant feeling that you were becoming a part of some larger Force power over which you had no control or understanding. 

You poured hot water from the kettle into your mug and added a tea bag, pulling it back and forth through the water. Steam wafted up and condensed onto your face, the warmth of it comforting, even as sweat began to form at your brow. This you found very odd as your quarters were generally just on the cusp of freezing. 

You moved to sit the tea on the counter, but the mug fell from your grip and shattered on the floor as you pulled both hands to your head. Your fingers knotted themselves in your hair, trying to relieve the crushing pain that spread across your scalp. 

Stumbling across the kitchen, you leaned against the counter and finally caught a glimpse of the scene unfolding behind you. 

Everything was burning. 

Tall flames curled outwards from bookshelves lining The Study. Fire spread across the blood colored rugs and the sofa in the living room. It spread to everything around you, creeping out from the sliding bedroom door. The heat was unbearable. It ate at your skin and the smoke made your eyes water. Memories, hot and burning, flashed across your mind. 

You saw fields consumed by raging blazes, the sky blocked out by clouds of rising black soot. Screams filling what little air there was, explosions eventually drowning them. You felt the earth caked and black under your feet, cutting the soles as you ran. A farmhouse was alight in the distance. 

Everything was burning.

And there, in the center of it all, was the figure. 

But this time it wasn’t pleading. 

It’s hand was outstretched, but it not desperately grasping for you, not begging for you to pull it out of the depths of its own collapsing gravity. The flames of its fingers were reaching out as if to choke the life out of your burning body. It was menacing. It was destruction. It was not the same figure you had seen every night for nearly a year. This was not your dream. 

Your mind did not make this _thing_. 

And that could only mean that someone else did. Someone else had taken your vision and poisoned it with fear and anger. Someone took whatever-the-hell’s calling to you and made it malicious and evil and degrading. It took the pull you felt to come here and do something good and made it disgusting. 

You didn’t get angry often. Only when you felt your work was being insulted. 

And you were angry now. 

In fact, you were furious. 

By trying to harm you this thing was vicariously putting in danger all the patients you had promised to help, promised to protect from a system who saw them as animals.

And it would dare to make you a liar.Dare to break the trust you’d spent so long building between yourself and the ‘troopers. Making you suffer was one thing, but you would not allow your work to be belittled any longer. Not by Hux and certainly not by whatever was gallivanting around in your head. 

“GET OUT!” 

The words tore from your lips originating somewhere so deep you hadn’t realised it was there at all. The command echoed out into the room like nothing you had ever spoken before. You ripped your hands from your hair, and the felt five twisted, gnarled fingers that had dug themselves into your skull come away with them. 

And then everything was gone. 

The flames, the figure, the hand crushing your temples, all of it. 

You took a long, shaky breath and glanced down at the scattered pieces of mug littering the floor. Bending slowly, you picked them up and mopped the spilled liquid with a dish rag. Then you made yourself another cup of tea.

You crossed your no longer burning quarters. You took a seat in The Study. You pulled a notebook from the shelf. You sipped your tea. 

And you got back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAaaaaand here we are, two days early!! Honestly I'm impressed with myself. Anyway this chapter has like next to no dialogue so now you can experience what its like to be in the reader's head even more than usual. Sorry about how boring and time-skippy this is but unfortunately it is necessary and Kylo will be back soon in all his angsty glory. Thank you so much for reading, the next update is scheduled to come out July 24th so I'll do my best to get it out then or earlier. As always, please leave some comments if you are so inclined, it's incredibly motivating and I love hearing what you all think. Thank you again!


	6. Preamble: Article Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.” ― Abraham H. Maslow, Toward a Psychology of Being

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last time we saw our dear reader, she was being plagued by horrific visions of bloodied hands and burning figures. Finally, having cast out whatever malevolent force was worming its way around in her head, she discovers an even bigger problem. And so does Kylo.

You weren’t sure anymore if you were cut out for this. 

Losing sleep and experiencing vividly traumatic, supernatural hallucinations was one thing. Your mind was a familiar place, you knew the ins, the outs, and how to control it. Even when you had no clue what the hell those visions were, you still retained the ability to stop them. 

But this was different. 

Now, staring down at months of complied research, you looked back almost fondly at the time when going insane was the most prominent of your worries. 

Since the visions/hallucinations/’evil presence playing god in your head’ stopped three weeks ago, you threw yourself even deeper into research. It was far easier without that added distraction to focus on creating charts, documenting symptoms, and scouring for explanations in your extensive, psychological archive.

With your thoughts cleared, you were finally able to remember the study that had originally come to mind after your first few weeks of seeing patients. 

You hadn’t actually taken part in it, that was years before you were born, but you did dedicate quite a bit of time to it when you were younger. Back when you had first come to live on the University. You were obsessed with the war for a long time, and then you’d wanted nothing to do with it. Ironic how you just kept getting pulled back in. 

The Combat Stress Reaction (CSR) study, contained an in depth analysis dealing with effects of warfare on the human psyche. Data was gathered in the form of interviews, naturalistic observations, and field experiments beginning with participants in the Clone Wars and spanning to those who fought the Galactic Civil War. It was graphic to say the least, but you’d read those files so long ago now that many of the details had slipped your mind. You’d been searching for answers then, ways to humanize the figures that shot and rampaged and destroyed each other in your dreams at night. It wasn’t the actual theories you were interested in, mostly the pictures. Those you did remember. 

Pages upon pages of faces. You remember thinking that they all looked so normal. They were just people. Some of them even smiled. For whatever reason, you recall that surprising you. The holovid recordings were a different story. 

Burly, war-hardened men and women throwing themselves behind tables at the sound of recorded blaster fire. Some of the strongest people in the galaxy reduced to empty shells by what they had seen. It stuck with you. 

But that wasn’t exactly new information. Relatively speaking, psychology was in its infancy, but with the galaxy almost constantly at war, it wasn’t hard to see the effect it had on those involved in the fighting. Granted there was never a name for it, until this study breached. And even now, the name was overlooked. Naming something gave it substance. Naming something made it real and that is far more terrifying. 

To be fair, everything is when you don’t understand it. 

In any case, the general populous didn’t know anything specific about what you and your coworkers would call post traumatic stress disorder, but they were familiar with its effects. So, when you went got a hold of the original notes and files pertaining to the Stormtrooper program, it wasn’t entirely shocking to see that the scientists working on the project had developed a short of ‘work around’. 

It had been a week since you’d first discovered that you had access to all the schematics behind the ‘trooper’s creation. You were decidedly pissed with Hux at the time for rebuffing your attempts to meet with him, so you did some digging yourself. Apparently, Hux hadn’t accounted for that. He really should have thought twice before making you head of your department. It was a nice jab, you would admit, but it came with some perks you didn't think he took into consideration. One of those being your security clearance. 

So, you dove right in...and you didn’t like what you found.

Most of it was fine. More appropriately, it was exactly like what you had expected. Fucked up, but fine in its science. Basically legalized child trafficking and slavery, but effective in its purpose: create a race of super soldiers without the ability to question commands or authority. Troopers who were willing die in battle simply because they knew how to do nothing else. They were conditioned from infancy to believe that their purpose in life was to fight until they were physically unable to continue with absolutely no sense of self-preservation or fear. 

But there was one, large, damning oversight: Nature. 

People are people no matter how hard you try to remove that factor. For the most part, everyone knows that being exposed to extremely traumatic situations can have massive, long term effects on the mind. What they don’t know is that people are born with that way. At least to a degree. Genes that get passed down from your parents are what decides your eye color, hair color, your height, and to some extent, your personality. That includes how susceptible you might be to certain mental afflictions, including post traumatic stress disorder or at least other symptoms that make you far less resistant to developing it. Obviously though, genes can’t control everything. 

That’s where the other side of the argument comes in: Nurture. 

This was really what the scientists working on the Stormtrooper Program were attempting to control. It made sense that they would. At the time, the knowledge of genetic effects on personality were slim, and so simply not teaching the participants to be disobedient or fearful of death--not allowing the option of insubordination--would seem like all they needed to do. 

You knew better now. 

When still attending the University, you’d gotten fairly close to the head of the Psychology department. Professor Wundt had been somewhat of a mentor for you, most likely because you showed the most enthusiasm of all the couple hundred students that comprised the department. You only thought of him now because he had been the one to pioneer the Nature vs. Nurture debate. When Wundt was much younger, he’d been a key contributor to some of the first serious psychological experiments done at the University. 

Needless to say, you’d been interested in him. 

So while you took up far too much of his office hours, you did actually learn quite a bit more than was included in the curriculum. Mainly his theory on the effects of genetics and the environment on human development. Everything began flooding back to you while reading over the program notes. Waves upon waves of horror loomed on the shore of your mind as you envisioned every ‘trooper you’d begun treating being a part of such an ethical monstrosity.

Stripped of their names--identity--these children were forced into an cold, unforgiving environment made up of durasteel and snow and blaster fire. They were starved of touch, affection, or any kind of human communication outside of anger or condescending praise. They were not taught how to cope with any kind of emotional trauma. It wasn’t conditioning. It wasn’t even brainwashing. You cannot remove fear or longing or pain. You cannot remove a person's humanity. 

When boiled down to its bones, the Stormtrooper Program was this: place a child into an environment devoid of anything necessary for its healthy development and when they’re strong enough to fire a blaster, toss ‘em out into battle and see if they make it back alive. Don’t worry if they don’t! We’ve got an endless supply of volunteers. 

You though back to the ‘troopers on the shuttle that had taken you to Starkiller. The young one, LX-5781, was vivid in your minds eye. How shocked he’d been at the thought of touching your hand. His boyish curiousness. He couldn’t have been any older than you. The smile and nervous joy that radiated off him the whole time you’d asked questions. It came back so clearly, you almost believed he sitting right there in your office.

He’d been so astounded that another person would bother to ask his name that he’d returned to base bursting at the seams to tell his squadron that someone had been nice to him. Like it was some revolutionary thing. 

Now you imagined him small, lost, afraid. Trapped alone, on a dark planet devoid of sunlight or greenery, being taught that he was nothing more than a means to an end. A tool. A disposable weapon. Growing up without love or touch except that which he may have received from his fellow ‘troopers, if any. 

Your hands shook as you placed your head in them. Bile rose in your throat and you wretched, dry heaving when your stomach had no contents to spill. Disgusting. Horribly unethical. A violation of every basic human right. And all being written off as some grand psychological experiment. Some marvelous breakthrough. This program had made careers for the men that created it. 

And you. You had thought it was fascinating. 

You’d read about the Stormtrooper Program. Of course you had. But never like this. You had never had to put a face to it. The concept of human conditioning had been a passing interest, but now the faces of your patients began to blend with the faces of the men and women from CSR study. 

You saw LX-4955 waking up from horribly vivid night terrors, nearly strangling the man in the next bunk because he still believes the Resistance pilot in his dreams has a knife to his throat. You saw TJ-9923 screaming desperately for his fellow ‘troopers to take cover in the crowded mess hall because the clattering dishes caused flashbacks of war zones. You saw LX-2456 shying away from your touch because she’d never known a friendly hand in her entire life but those from her comrades. 

You force anyone into a situation like that and it wouldn’t matter if they were predisposed to mental illness or not. In trying to eliminate all fear from their soldiers, the First Order only succeeded in ruining thousands of perfectly good children. And for what? Just so they could have bodies to put on the ground. Stave off the Resistance with uselessly trained soldiers just because they could. Just because they wanted to see what would happen. 

And it wasn’t even against the law. 

For the most part, these children were given away, whether willingly or under coercion, it didn’t really matter since nobody was appointed to question the First Order’s dealings on poverty stricken planets. 

In the medical field, there were rules, there were oaths doctors took promising to never harm a patient in their care. There was no code of ethics for psychology. There was no rulebook, no oath. You were a doctor in title only. Every treatment, every session you had was all one big experiment. Up until now, psychology was theoretical. All at once, you felt an immense, crushing weight on your shoulders. 

You were all these ‘troopers had. You were it. You. Just one, insignificant doctor with no real idea what you were doing. 

They deserved so much better. 

You couldn’t change what had happened. You couldn’t undo the years of torture these poor people had been put through. But you could do everything in your power to mitigate the effects and keep anyone else from suffering the same fate. Psychology didn’t have a legal set of limitations. But if you had anything to do with it, that would end now. 

Even if you had to write the entire goddamn code of ethics yourself. 

Hux was going to have start taking you seriously if you were ever going to get anywhere, so this was as good a place to start as any. You pulled up the messaging system and entered Hux’s code into the recipient box. This time there would be no polite requests to be blown off. You weren’t asking anymore. 

_“I’ll meet you in your office at 0800 hours tomorrow morning. I have important things to discuss.”_

Send. 

You almost never got angry. It was unprofessional. But when someone insulted your work, it was hard to control yourself. Sometimes politeness would only get you so far. 

“Buckle up, Hux.” you whispered to yourself, leaning back in your office chair. The General was about to find out just how relentless you could be. It was only a matter of time before he would crack. 

***

So you had underestimated Hux. His annoyance threshold was apparently off the charts. So much so that you began to think this man might just be more tolerant than even you. And you could put up with a lot of shit. 

You had gone to his office the morning after sending him the first in a long list of demands for face to face interaction. Upon arrival, you were greeted with an office void of Hux and a ‘trooper who regretfully informed you that he had just left. To where and when he would be returning, she didn’t know. 

You took the news in stride. Sending him four more messages and visiting his office six more times over the next two days, which turned into four, then a week, then two, which lead you to now. Standing outside Hux’s abandoned office once again, alone in the hallway save for a ‘trooper standing guard by the door. 

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. His name was BC-3170. You’d gotten quite close with the soldiers on patrol in this hallway over the past two weeks. 

You clicked your heel on the ground in frustration and shook your head in response, making an about face and marching back the way you came. 

“Ma’am, wait!” BC-3170 called from behind you.

“What?” You hadn’t meant to snap at him, it wasn’t his fault, but your irritation had gotten the better of you. He hesitated in his approach and you quickly apologized, lifting your hands in a plead for forgiveness. 

The ‘trooper waved it off immediately, “Don’t worry, ma’am.” He walked to meet you in the middle of the hall, sheepishly looking down to the floor, “I just wanted to, um, thank you, ya know, for trying.” 

“Oh trust me, honey,” you said, leveling him with a determined stare when he glanced up at you, “You haven’t seen anything yet.” 

He nodded, but you could feel the disbelief that surrounded him like a dark storm cloud, “Ma’am, I-”

“He has to listen,” you interrupted, doing your best to dispel any anxieties he had, “I’ll make sure of that.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Do you trust me?” The words left your mouth on an impulse. It was too much to ask, you knew that, but even you were selfish on occasion. BC-3170 stared at you in silence for a moment before nodding sharply.

“Of course, ma’am.” 

You took in a shaky breath at his response. There was no uncertainty in him now. 

“Then you should know that I will never do anything to betray that to any of you.” He stared at you unblinkingly, searching for any hint on insincerity, but finding none, “Hux _will_ listen. That’s a promise.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 3170 responded softly and turned back to his post as you made your way down the hall to your office. 

But, of course, the universe was constantly working against you. Just as you were about to reach your office, Felix and Samara rounded the corner on their way to the cafeteria for lunch. Samara knew you well enough by now to infer from your under eye circles and the way your stomach growled loudly in the silent hallway that you had not eaten and most likely would not very soon if she didn’t drag you along with them. 

And so you were now heading down to the mess, flanked by Samara and Felix who argued over you furiously. You tried not to pay attention, focusing on your datapad screen with this afternoons patient schedules on it, until the device was nearly knocked from your hands by Samara’s flailing elbow. 

“Katherine will be back in less than a week and haven’t filed _anything_ since she left?!” she practically screamed in your ear. It was so odd hearing her smooth, honey-toned voice raised two octaves at a solid fortissimo. 

“If you hadn’t noticed, we’ve been just a wee bit busy lately.” Felix in his own right, remained at an acceptable volume level despite the woman next to you attempting to shove her fist into his ribcage, “I haven’t had the time!”

The three of you rounded a corner into one of the main corridor, continuing forward towards the cafeteria. You were about to step in and put an end to the soon-to-be assult when your eyes caught sight of a head of ginger hair. 

Hux was walking leisurely down the hall, accompanied by two other figures. You didn’t take the time to register who they were as you felt a renewed wave of anger flow through you. It seemed as though the General could sense your eyes burning holes through his forehead because he looked up, locking eyes with you. His gaze was wide-eyed and dare you say nervous under your glare. 

“I’ll meet you later,” you said dismissively to Samara and Felix, who looked confused but continued on as you back tracked towards Hux. 

Your heels made a furious _click_ against the durasteel as you approached. A smile almost formed on your face as you saw how he winced slightly with every step you took. 

He wasn’t going to get away this time.

***

Hux’s voice, pompous and unrelenting, chipped away at Kylo’s thin layer of self control as they walked side by side to the cafeteria. Listening to him drone on for the entire meeting of the High Command was more than enough of the General for the rest of the month. He had hoped to slip away among the other officers as the meeting concluded, but of course, Hux couldn’t pass up the opportunity to be a massive pain in his ass.

He should have known better than to hope for anything in the first place. 

Slowly, he cracked each of his fingers and grinned when the General twitched with every pop. “If you insist on keeping up this appalling behavior, I think you will find yourself absent from the next council meeting.” Hux’s voice was a hiss now, even more jarring than before. 

Kylo let out a huff in response, but it came out as merely static through his modulator, “I would miss nothing of importance, your speeches are no more than eloquently stated bantha fodder.”

The general flushed, his cheeks and ears growing pink in annoyance. “It’s painfully ironic, _Commander_ , how adamantly you demand respect, yet prove time and time again to be no more than a child with an overstated ego.” Hux spat in retort, a smirk plastered on his face as Kylo bristled at the jab. 

Phasma glanced down at the men as disapprovingly as she could through her helmet visor. “Well, no matter how immaturely Commander Ren may conduct himself, at the moment you are _both_ bickering like children.” 

Kylo turned his gaze to the floor as the three continued walking towards the mess. He knew by Hux’s smug glare that he looked exactly that: a sulking child. Embarrassment was hot on his face, anger probably not far behind it. 

But it never came.

His head shot up when he felt something else entirely. There it was again, a slight, nagging pull; the force began to flow softly like the trickle of a stream. His feet stilled, Phasma and Hux continuing on as he stood, frozen, in the hall. After a few steps, they too stopped. Phasma looked as though she was calling out to him, but he barely noticed. 

Just a few yards away, you had entered into the corridor from a side path, accompanied by two others. Kylo wouldn’t have recognized you if not for the faint, swirling disturbance you caused. There was no bare expanse of glowing skin, no sleep-tasseled hair. Instead, your legs were covered by fitted, black slacks, your hair neatly pinned back. 

Your eyes were the same though, a familiar chill settled in him as your gaze landed on his frame. It was only for a moment though. You passed quickly over him, focusing on Hux who looked extremely uncomfortable under your scrutiny. 

There was a _click_ as you crossed the hall towards the General, gaining on him before he could find an excuse to head in the other direction. 

A small part of him felt irrationally upset that you had effectively ignored him, but most of his irritation was lost to the calming pulse which spread across his skin as you drew nearer. Goosebumps erupted under the thick fabric of his tunic when you finally spoke. 

“General Hux,” your voice was more commanding than he had expected it to be, “I’m glad I finally caught you.” 

Hux clasped his hands behind his back, flashing a smile that more resembled a grimace than anything else, “I’m sure you are, Doctor.” 

So you were a doctor then. You didn’t look much like a doctor, especially not in the heels you were sporting. Doctors wore scrubs, maybe lab coats, and in your forest green blouse with shiny black pumps, you did not match that description. 

“I have some things I’d like to discuss with-” you began before Hux stepped to the side, cutting you off as he gestured to Phasma. 

“Oh please, we can speak of that later,” he moved to stand beside you and indicated the Captain who gave him a pointed tilt of her helmet, “Allow me introduce you to Captain Phasma.” 

Kylo watched the glare you shot Hux and the immediate way your face shifted to one of polite neutrality. He was avoiding you for some reason and you knew it. 

“Captain Phasma,” you repeated with a smile, holding out your hand, “it's lovely to finally meet you.” 

If Phasma was at all off put by your actions she made absolutely no show of it. With her body pulled tautly to attention, she calmly took your hand and firmly shook it once, peering down at you curiously. 

“Doctor,” she said with a nod, “I’m glad to finally meet the women my soldiers speak of so often.” 

“They do?” you asked, ducking your eyes humbly with a smile, “All good things, I hope.”

“Yes,” Phasma stated simply. The smile that graced your face at her answer was a genuine one, nothing like the polite mask you’d worn before. 

Kylo stared at the expression, deciding it fit you well. Not many people on Starkiller smiled. It was not something he had thought of until now. How long had it been since he’d seen a look like that? He studied your face harder, as he tried to remember.

It was then that your eyes fixed on him. 

A rush of coolness alighted on his skin as the familiar feeling of cold, gentle hands brushed his cheeks. He must have accidentally reached out to you, like he had that night in the hall. Your brows creased as you stared before speaking again. 

“And who is this?” The question was directed at Hux, but your eyes never left him. 

Hux glanced first at you and then at Kylo where he stood ten or so feet away. The concern on his face was visible. Phasma directed her own warning stare in down the hall as well. 

“This is-” the General began, but before he could finish the statement, Kylo had already crossed the distance to stand in front of you. There was only about two feet of space left between your chests when he stopped. 

“Commander Kylo Ren,” he said, voice staticy through his modulator.

“Commander Ren,” you repeated, gaze still wary but never truly afraid. 

He glanced down to see that you’d extended your hand for him to shake. Hux looked frozen with nervousness at what Kylo might do. But he just stared at your hand, fingers splayed, reaching out to him. The sight felt familiar, though he knew it could not have been.

No one on Starkiller had ever tried to shake his hand. Or touch him at all. When was the last time he’d touched another human being? When was the last time he’d ever given a handshake? Did he remember how to? While his mind ran laps around itself in an anxious flurry, his body reacted on its own. 

Your hand was almost swallowed whole in his grip, disappearing into the black leather.  
You squeezed firmly, locking eyes with him as you did, “It’s nice to meet you.” He watched silently as you gave him your name and pulled away. 

His hand felt empty. 

Kylo wondered if he should repeat your name as you had with his, but he worried his mouth would not be able to form the word. The moment was quickly over at any rate, as Hux interrupted, excusing himself to finish some important paperwork and rushed off down the hall. Your eyes left his and trailed the General’s escaping form, taking off after him. 

“General Hux, please wait!” you called, picking your pace up to a jog. 

Kylo wondered idly, how you managed run in shoes like that but was brought out of his thoughts by Phasma’s uncharacteristic chuckle. 

“Come, Commander” she said and began walking towards the cafeteria once more, “you’ll scare the ‘troopers if you stand there like that.”

***

You lost Hux somewhere along the maze of hallways and in your righteous fury, landed a kick to the wall. It bruised your toe and scuffed the patent leather of your heels, but damn it felt good. Oh well. He couldn’t run away forever. 

Or maybe he could. 

If the last two weeks or so was anything to go by, this man was willing to inconvenience himself in every way possible just to avoid you. 

Ass. 

Your shoulders slumped as you leaned against the cool durasteel wall and let out a sigh. It was very possible that the General would continue to run away from his problems-both literally and figuratively-but you simply didn’t have time for that. These ‘troopers needed you. They trusted you, and playing this stupid game of cat and mouse was getting you nowhere. Your stomach growled impatiently, interrupting your thoughts, and you looked back towards the cafeteria. 

At this point you might as well strategize over lunch, so you gave up on Hux and made your way back to the mess. 

With Hux placed to the wayside of your thoughts, they wandered to subjects you very much wished to ignore. Mainly the man in the mask, Commander Kylo Ren. 

At least you knew his name now. And he hadn’t mentioned the night in the hallway. Maybe he didn’t recognize you? It was entirely possible, but you had a feeling that he remembered that night just as well as you did. 

The way he dressed was intimidating to say the least. Although, as a woman in academia, you’d gotten used to holding your own against men, probably not twice his size, but at least close to it. No, his appearance you could handle, but his gaze was what really unnerved you. 

It was oppressive, inescapable--calculating. And it gave you the distinct impression that he knew exactly what you were thinking at any given moment. But that wasn’t really what bothered you about it. 

It was how poorly it fit him. He looked at you as though you were a piece of meat being dangled in front of his snapping jaws. But if you analyzed him further, the way he carried himself, the nervous twitching of his fingers--his energy--what was once intimidating became something else entirely. He felt young, full of juvenile awkwardness and insecurity, unsure even of how to shake your hand. 

There was no cloaking pulsation of anger in him to mask his true nature from you this time.

That was probably why he wore that mask. 

For the ‘troopers, it was just another tool to dehumanize them in their own eyes and those of everyone around them, and for Commander Ren, it was no different. He was so full of emotion, of humanity, that he had to hide his face, lest it betray his menacing charade. 

You wondered what he looked like, then. Had his lips turned up at the corners in a shy grin when you gave him your name? Or did his brows furrow and cheeks blush when he held onto your hand just a second too long. 

But then you remembered the fear on Hux’s face when Ren had approached you. You’d never seen an expression like that on the General. It was a stark reminder that however childish the Commander felt to you, he was still the Commander. If there was one thing, you’d learned in your time here, it was that officers of the First Order all had blood on their hands. No one got to the top without cutting someone else down first. 

If Kylo Ren made _Hux_ nervous, there was probably a good reason for it. 

And that meant you should do your best to avoid drawing his attention, something that seemed nearly impossible for you to accomplish. 

But you didn’t have much more time to think over it, as Samara and Felix stood just outside when you arrived, still deep in argument as was the norm. Although, they politely quieted down as you approached. 

“Done harassing the General for today, then?” Felix asked, the ever present bite of sarcasm laced into his words. 

“Fortunately for him, yes, I suppose so.” You replied, a glower settling over your features, “That man is insufferable.” 

“Yes, he certainly is,” Samara added, her voice deep and soft once more. You much preferred it to her screaming. 

The three of you took a place in line, grabbing the plates of dull looking pasta with some sort of green on the side. Felix looked down distastefully as the masked worker handed him his portion, while you settled for a polite ‘thank you’ and sent a glare Felix’s way. 

“What?” he asked incredulously. 

You just shook your head and followed Samara to one of the empty booths, taking a seat across from your companions. 

“So,” Samara began, taking a bite of the pasta and grimacing, “he still won’t meet with you?”

“No.” You took a bite as well and forced yourself to swallow the bland noodles, “And he shows no signs of giving in anytime soon.”

“Well, he’s not the only one in charge around here, you know.” Felix chimed in while poking at the green mass on the side of his plate.

“What do you mean?” You leaned curiously over the table.

“Well,” he continued, “technically Starkiller Base is led by a triumvirate.” He took a bite of the his food and spat it back out onto the plate, “Hux is the go to for most things related to us. He oversees the general workings around here so we usually deal with him.” 

“Sure, but where are you going with this?”

He shot you a look before getting to the point, “What I mean is that Hux may have hired you but technically speaking, he’s your overall commanding officer. Commander Ren and Captain Phasma have just as much authority as he does.” 

“You think I should go to one of them?” you asked, actually happy to listen to Felix for once. 

“Well, I’d recommend Phasma, since she deals directly with the ‘troopers and would honestly probably give a shit about this PTSD thing.” 

“Unlike you, apparently.” 

“That isn’t what I meant.” he snipped back, folding his arms over the table to lean in close. “But just between us,” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “stay away from Commander Ren.” 

“What? Why?”

He shushed you loudly and Samara leaned in as well, “He’s right. The Commander has built somewhat of a reputation for himself on the base.” 

You looked back and forth between the two, speaking quietly across the table, “What kind of reputation?”

“The kind where you attack personnel and destroy entire hallways with a glowing red stick of death,” Felix responded with a snarky grin. 

Samara landed a hard hit to his side and gave you a serious look, “Needless to say, he has a bit of a temper. It’s in your best interest to avoid him entirely.” 

“Right,” You said, eyes focusing not on Samara’s worried expression but on the dark mask trained in your direction just over her shoulder.

Leather covered fingers slid across the back of your neck as the man in question stared you down from behind his helmet. You couldn’t see his face, but it was very obvious that he’d been observing you for quite some time. 

***

The Commander wasn’t eating and Phasma had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with that doctor woman. She huffed and let a forkful of bland pasta fall back to her plate, leveling him with a pointed look. 

“Ren,” she called to get his attention, stifling a chuckle at the way his helmet snapped forward. He reminded her of a student caught daydreaming during lessons, “Stop sulking.” 

“I am _not_ sulking.” 

His voice was low and mechanical. In any other situation, she may have thought it commanded respect. Now it only served to make him sound like a petulant child playing dress up. 

“You’re refusing to eat and you’ve been staring at her since she walked in.”

Phasma lifted her fork again and jabbed it over her shoulder to the place where you sat across the room. She took a bite of her lunch and looked back up to find Ren leveling her with a defiant look of his own.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, placing his hands on the table and popping the joints. 

He was such a good liar when he wished to be. She wondered why he didn’t now. 

“You must realize how that makes you sound,” she added and he turned his head sharply away from her, crossing his arms. 

Phasma scoffed and leaned back in her seat. It was at moments such as these that she recalled just how young he really was. Ren acted like a child constantly, but it was easy to forget that--despite his protests otherwise--he was one not too long ago. 

“What is she doing here?” He mumbled, still not looking at her but shifting a bit so he could glance at you once more. 

“I’m not sure exactly,” Phasma began, finishing her pasta and pushing the plate away, “Hux hired her to work directly with the ‘troopers but that’s all I know.”

“Hmm.” 

Ren turned forward again and let his chin rest against his hands, clearly studying the way you had begun to lean forward and whisper across the table with the two other nurses. Phasma mirrored his pose and raised her eyebrows in a challenge. 

“If you’re so interested, Ren, why don’t you go talk to her?” she asked with a tilt of her head in your direction. 

“What?!” he hissed back incredulously. 

“Well, Commander, that is what people do when they’re interested in someone.” Phasma grabbed her helmet and slipped it back on, the airlock clicking in place. 

“I am _not_ interested in her.” 

Even from behind her visor, the skepticism in the Captain’s gaze was clear, “Of course you’re not.” 

Ren sat in silence for a few moments before slamming his hands down on the tabletop and standing from his seat. “Fine,” he snapped and marched off towards your table, Phasma following casually behind him. 

***

You squirmed uncomfortably. It had gotten very hot all of a sudden, and your face felt like it was on fire.

Samara was telling you some story about how the Commander had been brought in for treatment after being injured on a mission and destroyed the exam room when a nurse tried to remove his helmet. She starting going on about that Katherine woman nearly losing a hand when she went in to investigate the commotion, but you weren’t really listening. 

To be fair, it was very hard to concentrate on a story when the murderously impulsive protagonist of it was staring you down from across the room. You glanced back at him every so often, always finding him looking your way despite being in obvious conversation with the Captain who sat adjacent from him. 

“What are you looking at?” Felix snapped in annoyance and turned in his seat to follow your gaze, immediately snapping forward once more. “Has he been there this whole time?!” he asked frantically and you nodded. Samara seemed to gather from his look just who exactly he’d seen. 

“Do you think he heard?” she hissed.

“I don’t know,” Felix replied and placed his hand on her back, “just keep your head down.”

You, however, watched in mild horror as the Commander pushed himself up and stalked slowly towards your table. It was tempting to look away from him entirely, but he was still staring you down the same way he had in the hallway so many nights ago. The closer his massive form got, the more you could feel the energy radiating from him. 

Annoyance. That and something else. He seemed...flustered. 

A small tremor passed through him as got closer to where you sat.

Kylo Ren stopped directly in front of the table, so close you could have reached out and taken his hand. You had to tilt your head back so as not to break eye contact. He seemed even taller now, shoulders at least twice the width of yours. The helmet on his head was angled down directly at you, completely ignoring Felix and Samara’s presence. 

“Hello Commander.” 

You didn’t know why you said it. Out of the corner of your eye, Felix and Samara looked like they might faint at your brazenness. And, strangely enough, so did the Kylo Ren. 

He took in a sharp breath and simply nodded his head before turning and marching out of the cafeteria. You looked back down, blinking a few times in confusion. It was only then that you noticed Captain Phasma trailing behind him. She paused momentarily to look down at you from her immense height. 

“Doctor,” she inclined her head in a small nod of acknowledgement before following the Commander out into the corridor. 

When you glanced across the table, you found Felix and Samara gawking at you with identical faces of terror. 

“What did I, _literally_ , just tell you?!” Felix burst the second both Phasma and Ren were out of sight. 

“I didn’t do anything!” You snapped back and this time it was Samara who stepped in. 

“Let’s all just be thankful our heads are still attached, yes?” she said with a shiver and leaned into Felix’s hand that still lay on her shoulder. 

“Right, well,” you said, “that was certainly something.”

“How are you not shittin’ yourself right now?” Felix pressed his free hand into the bridge of his nose.

“I mean, it was weird,” you admitted pulling out your datapad and opening a new message draft, “but he really didn’t seem like he was going to hurt me.” 

“You’re Insane.” Felix ran a hand through his blond curls, and while Samara didn’t verbally agree with him, she wasn’t trying to defend you either. 

“It’s been said before, yes.” 

Samara looked at you worriedly, “Why would he do that though? He didn’t look at us the whole time and we were the ones talking about him.”

You lifted another spoonful of pasta to your mouth and deliberated, “I don’t know, I only just met him.” 

For whatever reason, you chose to keep the encounter with him on your first night here a secret. It felt wrong to share the moment with anyone other than Commander Ren. Samara eyed you carefully, but if she thought you were lying, she said nothing. 

Felix pushed his plate away and grimaced, “Well, needless to say I’ve lost my appetite.” 

“You weren’t eating before anyway…” Samara added, obviously unhappy with his waste of food. 

They began bickering again as you pulled the newly surrendered plate towards you and polished it off, listening to them snip at each other endlessly. When the plate was clean, you interrupted them once more. 

“Felix,” you chimed in and he glanced towards you, “what were you saying about Captain Phasma before...you know.” 

He looked confused for a moment but quickly gathered what you meant, “Oh...just that you should try and get a meeting with her. If Hux won’t listen to you, I bet she will.” 

“Why do you say that?”

“First of all, she’s basically in charge of everything Stormtrooper related, so it seems like you should be talking to her anyway,” he began and then glanced around as if to make sure no other officers would pop up again before continuing, “And well, it’s not a huge secret that Hux is more than a little...intimidated by the Captain. If anyone can convince him to listen to you, it’s her. 

“Right. Thanks.” you said, beginning to type out a short message as Samara and Felix watched intently. When it as done, you slid the device across the table, “Do you think this is okay?”

They read over it, looked at each other, and nodded. Samara slid it back and you pressed send after entering Phasmas COM code into the recipient box. With that, you slipped the datapad back into your bag and moved to stand. 

“Well, I’m off.”

“Back to work already?” Samara inquired disapprovingly, but you just shrugged and slid from the booth, heels clicking against the durasteel. 

You were halfway back to your office when a small ding echoed in the empty hall. Stopping, you fumbled in your bag, finding the datapad and pulling it out. Phasma’s code was highlighted at the top. The speed of her response was surprising to say the least. 

You were used to Hux, not actually professionalism. 

_Hello Doctor,_

_I am available at 0700 hours tomorrow morning. If that is convenient, we shall meet in conference room B552 to discuss your proposal._

_CPT Phasma_

Staring down at the screen, a painfully wide smile began pulling at your cheeks. You typed quickly--attempting not to sound as though you were prepared to kiss the ground she walked on--and replied with an enthusiastic ‘yes’. 

Finally, you had a win. 

It was about damn time. 

***

Thankfully, Phasma said nothing as she and Kylo made their way to the training rooms in Sector C. She looked as if she wanted to, but his mind was focused on too many other things to be annoyed. Mainly, your head, tilted back to meet his eyes. The furrow of your brow and the way your lips moved when you spoke. The second you’d said hello, everything in his head went silent. 

When was the last time he had actually spoken to a woman outside of Phasma? Years probably. He didn’t do much interacting on Starkiller period and certainly never with anyone as civilian as you. It was much different than barking orders to the officers. More than that, it felt as though the force was pulling him towards you. Just sitting in the same room was far too distracting. 

And now you were probably terrified of him. 

There way no way you weren’t after his display in the cafeteria and for whatever reason, that bothered him. It shouldn't. That was his goal after all. He was Commander Kylo Ren of the First Order. Everyone should be afraid of him. But that was quickly turning into Everyone but you. 

And then there was Snoke. 

Why was his master so interested in you? Why would he go out of his way to question Kylo about something so trivial. If he was concerned, the Supreme Leader would have simply ordered your execution.

His interest seemed far worse. 

Surely he couldn’t see you as a potential student. Had Kylo disappointed his master so terribly that he would consider training you instead? It was true that you had exhibited the power to exact some control over his emotions. Maybe you _were_ more powerful than he had originally anticipated. If that was true then you were a threat to his position. 

But he didn’t _feel_ threatened. 

More than anything he just wanted to hold you hand again. It was a strange emotion. He hadn’t ever wanted to touch anyone. At least not in a very very long time. If Kylo thought he was conflicted before, then this had taken it to the next level. He was overcome with the urge to bang his head against a wall. 

Phasma interrupted his wildly racing thoughts as they both entered the sparring rooms. She walked off, going to meet with her squadron most likely, but stopped just before leaving.

“I’ll give you this, Ren,” she said slowly, glancing in his direction and then walking through the door, “you have good taste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's early again guys! And long af again too...I seriously have no self control when it comes to this. Oh well. So we're finally getting into some real interaction between the reader and Kylo...finally. And Phasma called you hot so that's cool! Anyway Kylo is forever an awkward teenager when it comes to talking to women and it comes off very poorly when he's dressed like a 6'3" horror movie monster. I apologize in advance if any of the psychological talk in the beginning is at all off base, PLEASE CORRECT ME if you notice any glaring mistakes. Thank you so much for reading as always and please leave me some comments or suggestions or predictions for what you think I might put these poor people through next time.


	7. General Principals: Article One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “In my early professional years I was asking the question: How can I treat, or cure, or change this person? Now I would phrase the question in this way: How can I provide a relationship which this person may use for his own personal growth?”  
> ― Carl R. Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We last left our dear reader on a much needed win for both her and the 'troopers. But her meeting with Kylo has left him a bit worse for wear--poor boy--and it isn't about to get any better...

Light from the view ports cast a sheen on the durasteel floor like frost on black dirt as Kylo Ren made his way father into Starkiller’s depths.

It was always colder in this part of the base, the corridors stretching out into a dark and empty abyss in front of him. Its perpetual silence was only broken by the pounding of his boots.

He tried desperately to fight off the dread rising in his stomach. 

The sliding doors at the end of the hall seemed to get farther away with every step he took towards them. His destination always just out of reach. Lately, it was beginning to feel like most things were. Not a day went by when he was not reminded, in some way, of his shortcomings.

He pushed this thought to the back of his mind. Better to keep his turmoil tucked away lest Snoke feel the Light that seemed to cling to his black robes like snowfall.

Melting quickly from view, but always leaving behind its stain. 

Condensation began to collect inside the visor of his mask despite attempts to calm his breathing. Some small, hopeful part of him prayed for your gentle voice--for now he knew it was yours--to coax his lungs into a more calming rhythm. _Breathe_. He could just barely hear it echo when he listened very closely. But he could not replicate the way your Force felt on his cheeks, could not recreate the chilling sensation of cool palms on his skin. 

He’d thought you weak before. 

If the Force were an ocean, you would have been nothing more than a ripple, barely perceptible. But maybe that’s what you wanted. Maybe your inconspicuous presence was hiding something. His instincts told him to be wary of you while the rest of him couldn’t stop thinking about how soft your skin must be. 

He should be concerned. Very concerned. This was someone who the Supreme Leader himself had shown interest in, even scolded Kylo for underestimating, and yet. 

And yet. 

Here he was, wishing above all else that he hadn’t been wearing gloves when you’d met outside the mess hall.

That night he went back to his room and rubbed his palms together, feeling the drag of their rough calluses. He pressed them to his face and imagined how smooth your hands would feel against his cheeks. They certainly looked smooth. He closed his eyes and envisioned how your silky fingertips might feel stroking his jaw, catching slightly in the little bit of stubble there. 

Reliving the memory just made him realize the strangeness of it. 

He doubted that normal people sat around imagining their coworkers touching them. But your grip was so strong. Kylo couldn’t help but think about how your hands might feel tracing down the sides of his neck to rest on his shoulders or running through his hair, pulling at the tangles his helmet left behind. 

Yeah.

It was weird.

He should be cautious, make sure you knew your place. But his mind couldn’t really focus on anything other than how pretty you were and Stars...he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he’d ever gotten stuck on the fact that someone was pretty. 

It was infuriating, if he was being honest. 

You were so damn distracting and he’d only met you twice. It was getting in the way of his training. Kylo wasn’t sure what you had done to him, but whatever it was, he simultaneously wanted it to stop and engulf him completely. 

God, he hated it. He hadn’t made a single bit of progress in his independent training venture. It was like he’d lost his drive. He was weaker and unfocused and it had to be your fault. 

The elevator was fast approaching, and some of the anxiety had dissipated. Having a direction for his frustrations gave him back some semblance of control. 

He stepped through the doors and watched as they blocked out the hallways and began to rise. It took him up for what seemed like an eternity. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if it never stopped. What if it carried him out of Starkiller’s atmosphere and off into the vacuum of space?

He wouldn’t have very much to worry about then. 

But when the doors slid open, there was not expanse of stars, just a large throne and the sound of voices. 

“Make sure the girl is properly informed, Hux.” Snoke’s rasp of a voice was tinged with venom.

“Supreme Leader, please-” Hux’s began to argue but was cut off in an instant.

“The girl.” 

The response was more growl than speech and the General quickly bowed, turning to face the open elevator doors. He brushed past wordlessly as Kylo stepped out and the heavy metal doors sealed, trapping him inside like a caged beast. 

_Girl?_

Had the Supreme Leader been speaking of you? He hoped for both your sakes that was not the case. His jaw was set against the rising panic coursing through him. The room was humming with energy: powerful, dark, and ravenous.

His chest tightened. 

Breathe.

“Ah, my apprentice. It is good to see you have learned the importance of punctuality,” Snoke said, leaning forward in his throne. 

The massive hologram cast an ominous glow around the room. Kylo was almost completely certain the Supreme Leader had planned for him to overhear Hux’s orders. A deep chuckle filled the air at his thought. 

“Suspicious of me?” his Master questioned, a grin twisting his already gnarled features. 

“Of course not, Supreme Leader.” He sank to the ground in a kneel and lowered his head. 

“Hm,” the hologram shifted back in its seat, “how has your training progressed?”

“I have...done all you instructed.” 

There was a pause. He knew Snoke could sense what he had not said. That despite his attempts to strengthen himself in the Dark Side of the Force, he had failed. Kylo felt shame bubble up from somewhere deep inside him and tried to shove it back down.

**Breathe**. 

He screamed it at himself but it didn’t feel the same and the calm wouldn’t come. 

“You would do well to remember that you cannot hide from me.” 

The malicious grin was gone now, replaced by a blank slate of terrifying calm. A pressure formed in his temples, like a disfigured hand wrapping itself around his skull.

“I just need more time.” his voice betrayed him, even through the modulator. Doubt tainted the words like blood in water.

_**Breathe**_...

But no matter how hard he tried, Kylo could not conjure your voice. 

“Foolish boy,” the feeling of crushing hands dissipated as Snoke leered down at him, “do you know what I see when I look at you?” 

Kylo’s head rose slowly at the words so his eyes could lock onto the hologram. The sight of the massive figure caused a shiver to pass through his tense form, ice collecting in all his limbs to keep him frozen in place. He didn’t answer, but Snoke continued anyway. 

“I see the same child I saw when I first called you to the Darkness.” he hissed through torn lips. 

“I don’t understand. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me-” 

“Yet I see the same fear, the same weakness!” Snoke was shouting now. His rumbling voice reverberated in Kylo’s bones, “Your body may have grown stronger, but you are just as lost as you were when I found you. When I saved you. When I showed you your path.” There was a small pause full of malice and disdain before his Master continued. “A path you still seem unable to follow.”

A fire began deep within Kylo’s stomach, spreading through his veins like they were trees in a drought.

He could feel the Force warping the metal floors beneath his feet. His hands curled into tight firsts, fingernails piercing through his gloves. He wanted to run. Get away from Snoke, from his disappointment. He wanted to destroy everything in his path, feel his lightsaber tear through metal, flesh, anything. Rage burned hot in his chest, and his breathing came in gasps. Your face formed in the fire of his blazing mind. 

You.

You did this to him.

“There it is,” Snoke said, the grin back on his face, “you have all this anger, this passion, this Darkness, but you can’t use it.” 

A growl of frustration burst from Kylo’s lips and he pushed off the ground to stand before his Master. 

“SO HELP ME!” he screamed, tearing down his hood, “Teach me to control it and I will be unstoppable! I will be everything you want me to be!” 

Snoke’s head tipped back and his cacophonous laugh shook the walls. Kylo’s ragged breathing was the only sound in the room when the laughter ceased and the hologram towered over him. 

“Control is something you have proven incapable of learning,” Snoke glanced at him with a wicked and cunning stare, “at least from me.” 

Kylo advanced on the throne, angry confusion pulsed in him, “What?!”

“The girl you so diligently brought to my attention has shown herself to be the perfect candidate to teach you this skill, Knight.” There was smug laughter in the hologram’s eyes as it spoke. 

“Her?!” he spat incredulously, “She is _weak_ , she is _nothing_ compared to me-”

Kylo could not finish his onslaught as the wind was knocked from him. His back was stiff against the chamber’s far wall, the muscles already bruising as he fell limply to the floor.

“Do not forget your place, Ren.” Snoke’s face was blank once more as his words passed through snarled lips in a hiss, “You are weak. Next to a petulant child in a mask, even the General would seem competent.”

“I will redouble my efforts, Supreme Leader. I have not-” He tried desperately to protest but Snoke would hear none of it. 

“You have shown yourself to be incapable of improvement unaided, so you will learn to control and focus your mind from someone far more proficient than yourself.” The glowing figure leaned back in its throne mockingly, “It is not worth the effort to teach you myself.” 

***

An alarm was blaring from somewhere across the room, but in your stupor it sounded more like warning sirens.

Trying desperately to ignore the sound, your eyes blearily opened and flicked over the array of files scattered around you. Crumpled drafts, discarded folders, and various charts littered your desk and the surrounding floor. You must have fallen asleep at some point during your frantic scramble to compile the report for your meeting with Phasma.

_Oh God, that was today_ ….

You pulled your head up from the desk and sat straight, hearing the cracking of your back as you stretched. The air was cold and nipped at your bare toes and the skin exposed by your untucked blouse. Finally gathering the motivation to stand, you wandered down into the living room and grabbed your datapad from between the couch cushions. 

It blared and flashed the time in red lettering, but you didn’t need the device telling you it was five in the morning. 

You’re body was making you very aware of that on its own.

With a flick of your finger the alarm was silenced, leaving the room in suffocating quiet. You slowly let your head fall back to stare up at the ceiling and let out a loud groan. 

“Ughhhh…” you yawned and began to unbutton your blouse, casting it aside on the sofa. 

Your skirt fell somewhere along the way from the living room to the kitchen and you were left to strip off your underwear in the bathroom, turning the on the shower. There would be no comforting steam this time, as you left the water to run cold in hopes that it may shock your body and mind into a more functional state. 

The cool tiles felt good against your sore back as you leaned against the bathroom wall and let the sound of running water start your thoughts racing. 

You felt as though you were trying to trying to turn on a light to see the darkness, trying to catch motion by stopping a spinning top. In the few months that you’d been on Starkiller, you had become a ship thrust out into open water. And it was obvious that a storm was about to blow in. The faces of your patients plagued your mind and your sudden shift from reclusive researcher to ‘pioneer venturing into unexplored psychological territory’ has been more than a little stressful. 

Logically, you knew that staring at the same file folders for unprecedented amounts of time would not make the assorted charts and data suddenly spit answers at you. Your last position hadn’t been that simple either, but that had been conceptual. 

This was real. 

These were actual people who were depending on you and your ability. They trusted you. They believed in you and good God you did not deserve it. Not to say that you doubted yourself. You had been one of the most successful members of the your department on the University. You knew your shit. But actually putting your research to use, that had never been done on a scale like this.

Your eyes threatened to roll back in your head. 

No. 

No, you weren’t allowed to feel sorry for yourself. 

Oh, but you wanted to.

You wanted desperately to curl up in your bed and become one with the mattress. You were stuck on this shithole wasteland of a planet, surrounded by nothing but durasteel and militaristic oppression, left completely to your own devices to solve an unendingly complex issue affecting thousands of abused soldiers by yourself, and you had no idea how in the fresh hell you were going to pull it off. 

Slowly, you lowered your head between your knees and pulled tightly at your sleep tousled hair. You took a deep breath, letting it out in a cathartic sigh and stood to douse yourself in the cold water. 

Soap slid across your skin, nails a pale blue from the chill, as you washed away the fatigue and hopelessness. 

You reached out to shut the water off and wrapped yourself, shivering, in a towel. Your reflection in the mirror was all dark circles and slumped shoulders as you stood looking like a drowned rat in front of the sink. 

This sucked. 

The whole situation just _sucked_.

There was really no other way to say it, but too many people were relying on your ability to persevere for you to give up now. And if you were going to earn the respect you needed to succeed here, you needed to look the part. You lifted your hand and brought it down firmly on your cheek, watching a healthy pink tone crawl back into the skin. 

You cast aside the hollowness in your stare for a harder, determined gaze and forced a smile onto your lips. 

There. 

She looked like someone who knew what she was doing. 

With a nod, you dried off and dressed yourself in front of the closet mirror. The tapered, maroon slacks fit smartly with a matching blazer and black shimmering blouse. You opted for a pair of silver, stiletto sandals to bring the look together. 

There was something very empowering about ‘dressing to impress’ and it never failed to boost your confidence. 

Okay, so maybe you didn’t have a solid plan to help the ‘troopers. Maybe you were alone in this. Maybe there were thousands of people who were suffering from a little understood disease and it was all on you to convince the officers of the First Order of it. Maybe the whole situation seemed bleak. 

But you were here. You took this job for a reason, even if that reason was some otherworldly gut feeling. And the hell you weren’t going to give this your all and look damn good doing it. 

Besides, it couldn’t get much worse than this. 

You did your best not to think about it being worse than this. 

But, despite your new found self confidence, you know when you need to ask for help. And you are certainly not above doing it. Especially if it came from the man who had taught you in the first place.

Ever since you’d started going over Professor Wundt’s theory on Nature vs. Nurture, you had been dying to consult with him. Run your ideas by someone who could understand them and hopefully offer some guidance. 

You hoped he was awake.

The datapad was sitting right where you left it on the sofa, so you plopped down and pulled up the video communications link on its screen. Thankfully you still remembered his number. 

The screen went dark as it began to connect and waited for the professor to pick up. You waited almost five minutes and were about to give up when the device flashed. Professor Wundt sat in his old, leather desk chair, looking as he always did when you came to bother him: disgruntled, but affectionately so. 

“Good morning, Professor,” you greeted and he rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Millions of miles away and you still manage to bother me outside of office hours,” his expression was annoyed but the words conveyed more fondess than irritation. 

You smiled widely and he flashed you one of his own, albeit hidden behind a bushy beard. He looked the same as he always did, hair neatly parted and circular, wire-frame glasses perched on the end of his nose. 

“I’m a colleague now, can’t you cut me some slack?” 

He shook his head and laughed, “I suppose I can make an acception, so what can I help you with?

You sighed and your smile faltered just a bit, “I was hoping to run something by you…”

“Ah,” he interjected when you trailed off, “I was wondering when you would call about that.”

“What?”

He chuckled at your surprise, “This has to do with the Stormtrooper Initiative, does it not?” You pursed your lips and only blinked in response, so he continued, “I’m assuming you want to know my thoughts on their conditioning.”

“How did you know I would ask that?” The professor always had a way of predicting your behavior, and his ability to do so had not lost any of its uncanniness. 

“Because you have walked me through your thought process at least a hundred times on a hundred different subjects over your time studying here,” he fixed you with a pointed look, “It is fairly easy to guess where that mind of yours will end up.”

You rolled your eyes rather unprofessionally, joining him in a laugh at your own expense, before leveling your expression, “What am I supposed to do, Will?”

The professor made a fist and let his chin rest there as he always did before he tore apart your inquiries. You were immediately brought back to the years you’d spent bombarding him with questions and theories. You could almost smell the familiar scent of cold coffee and old books that his office always embodied. 

“Have I ever answered such a general request?” he responded, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

You groaned and let your head hang, “How do I help them...?”

He smiled again and nodded, “You know very well I can’t tell you that.” His voice was soft and low as it emitted from the speakers, “Besides, you know far more than I do on the subject now.”

The look you gave him explained enough how little you believed that statement, “What?”

“Think about it,” he prodded, “you have more experience in the field than anyone in the entire department.” 

“That’s because no one else has ever worked in the field.”

“Exactly.”

This was not going at all how you thought it would go, “This isn’t very helpful, Will.”

“That would be because I _can’t_ help you,” he said gently, “I don’t know a thing about how to practice psychology in a clinical sense. I’ve never done it, but you have.” 

“But I don’t know what I’m doing!” you stressed and he chuckled once again.

“Yes, you do. At the very least, you know better than anyone else.” He leaned back in his chair and shrugged, “If anyone can do this, it would be you. I read your work on treating mental illnesses, it was brilliant.”

“It was _theoretical_!”

“Everything started off as a theory.” You glared again and he elaborated, “You know what may work, then try it. That’s all anything medical is really, just one very large, continuous experiment.”

“But these are people, Will. These are actual, real-life, breathing human beings. They’re relying on me to not screw this up and what if…” you took a deep breath and met his gaze, “what if I’m wrong?”

In all your time working with the professor, you could never once recall a time in which you didn’t wholeheartedly believe in what you were doing. Everybody loves being right, but you made a point never to speak unless you were positive you were correct. It had to be infuriating.

Maybe that’s why no one liked you very much. 

Needless to say, it was a rare thing for you to admit to uncertainty. 

“Then you’ll learn, and you’ll adapt, and you’ll try something else.” He offered you another knowing smile, “When those officers came to my door, I recommended you ro a reason.”

“You recommended me?”

“Of course I did,” He seemed to sense your confusion and sighed, “Because I knew you would care about more than slapping your name on whatever study comes out of this. I knew that this job would require someone who could understand, empathize really, with subjects whom everyone else sees as undeserving of kindness. You said it yourself, these are real-life, breathing human beings. How many other people can you think of that would agree with that statement?”

“Not anyone really…”

“I recommended you because I knew of no one else who could look one of those soldiers in the eye and see something more than an experiment. And I can truly say, I know of not a single qualified person who would put themselves through this stressful of a position simply because they genuinely wish to help people nobody else will.”

You took a deep breath and stared in shock at this man you’d spent most of your adult life looking up to, now praising you as an equal.

But you were unused to such sincerity.

“I think your expectations are a bit high. I’d hate to disappoint.”

Will grinned and nodded, “You’re going to do great things.” 

And with that the screen went blank and you were left with tightening in your stomach from a renewed resolve and anxiety. 

***

After your pseudo-pep talk from Professor Wundt, you headed out for the conference room. It was a sizeable trek from your quarters to that portion of the base, but the long walk gave you time to organize your thoughts and you welcomed it. 

Along the way you passed groups of ‘troopers most likely returning to the barracks from the long night patrol shifts. They trudged, shoulders slumped, but when you offered a wave and a smile they seemed to perk up a bit. 

It certainly boosted your confidence.

But after awhile, the hallways emptied out once more and you were left with only the click of your heels for company. You had just passed by the entrance to another corridor when a white helmet peeked around and caught your eye.

“Doctor!” the ‘trooper called excitedly, “I thought that was you.”

“Hmm,” you chuckled at his eagerness and paused to talk as he stepped further into the hall, “how did you know it was me?”

He laughed and you could feel him flush a bit at your question, “Well, no one else wears shoes like that ma’am, it’s pretty easy to hear you coming.”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about that, but I suppose you’re right.”

“I hope I didn’t insult you-”

You cut him off with a wave of your hand and a smile, “No, no, I take it as a compliment if anything.”

He shrugged happily and cocked his head, “So, where are you headed so early in the morning, ma’am?” the ‘trooper asked. 

You were glad he felt comfortable enough to ask such a casual question without apologizing profusely. 

He seemed to brighten at your mention of Phasma and excitedly offered to show you a shortcut, insisting it was on the way to his post and that is was.

“Really, ma’am, no trouble at all, in fact it would be my pleasure to take you! Well, um, it is a secret but I don’t think anyone else would mind if I showed _you_ -” 

At that point you cut him off once more, offering your sincerest thanks and promising not to divulge the ‘troopers confidential shortcuts through the base. 

He is more than overjoyed. 

As he leads you through several twisting hallways, you study him a bit more. He seemed familiar, maybe a someone you had met in passing, but his smooth tenor voice was definitely one you’d heard before.

He was rambling on again and you politely interjected during one of his pauses for breath, “Have we met before?” you ask and he nods his head vigorously.

“We did!” he responds immediately and then ducks his head shyly before continuing. “Well I, uh, I was with LX-2456 when you said hello to her in the mess hall about a month ago...I doubt you’d remember me, ma’am.”

“Of course I remember you.” 

You actually did, much to your surprise. Although, you were more shocked that he would bother to remember that. 

“Really, ma’am?”

His smile was palpable when you nodded, “You’ll have to remind me of your name though, I believe it’s AK…” He was more than happy to fill in the rest, ecstatic that you recalled that much. 

“2077.” he responded, and you suspected if he had not been wearing his helmet you would have seen a cheek splitting grin on his face. 

“Forgive me,” you said, “I won’t forget it again.” 

“Please don’t worry about it, ma’am!” His hands waved frantically and rubbed the back of his neck, “Lex told me you nice, but I never expected you’d be this nice.” 

“Lex?” you cocked your head curiously at the name and he looked down, embarrassed.

“Oh, um, well...Lex is just what we call LX-2456 when we aren’t on duty.”

You raised your eyebrows at that, “So, do all the Stormtroopers have nicknames for each other?”

“Uh, I mean, no--well--yes...yeah…” he eventually trailed off and looked at the ground.

You smiled and shook your head, placing a hand on his upper arm and prompting him to snap his head up and meet your gaze, “You don’t have to be so nervous, 2077.”

“Sorry, ma’am...I’m, well, it’s just I’ve never talked to anyone other than the other ‘troopers,” he began, “Well I mean, I’ve never had a _conversation_ with anyone else.”

“Ah, I see. Well-”

“Plus, the nicknames are kinda a secret too.” He folded his arms as he walked and glanced over at you, “But, I mean, you’re different. So I think it’s okay to tell you.” 

“I’m different?”

“Well, yeah.” 

For the first time since you’d met him, AK-2077 fell silent for a moment. His arm swung at his sides and then locked into place behind the shiny, plastoid helmet as he walk. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts, so you remained silent and waited for him to continue.

“Everyone talks about you,” his voice was subdued and firmer now that he wasn’t rambling, “they say that you smile all the time and you ask us questions and really want to know the answers.” He pauses and looks over at you again, “they say that you stood up to the General and looked Commander Ren right in the eye while you shook his hand and that nothing scares you.” 

“Well, I don’t know about that,” you chuckled, unable to think of a more eloquent response.

He laughed too and let his hands drop to his sides, “Maybe. They mostly just say you’re...well that you’re nice.”

“So I’ve heard,” you say, brows furrowing despite his praise, “But I really just treat you all like people.”

“Hey,” he bends over so his helmet is level with your face and you can imagine the half grin that must form on his face, “that’s far more than we’re used to.” 

You try to respond but he makes a sharp turn out into a wider hall and you lose sight of him as he rounds the corner. In an effort to catch up, you speed around the bend in the hall only to run directly into him and nearly land flat on your ass. 

He barely registers your presence. 

The retort dies on your lips as you feel the terror radiating off him in waves. It’s oppressive and thick, making chills run up your spine as he takes a step back to stand beside you.

That’s when you see it. 

The hall is littered with chunks of control paneling and wires. Dark slashes mar the walls where the durasteel has been melted and cooled. Half of a door is leaning against the opposite side of the corridor while the other is tilted precariously in its frame. Sparks erupted from some of the exposed wiring and it seemed to jump AK-2077 back into action.

You couldn’t even begin to imagine what might have caused such destruction. It reeked of burning rage that blistered your skin which crawled at the sensation. 

“What happened here?” the words had only just left your mouth when 2077 pulled you roughly forward, using his body like a shield to block the destroyed hall from view. 

His response was nothing more than a frantic whisper:

“Kylo Ren.”

***

The glowing red, plasma blade sliced through everything that crossed its path. Durasteel yielded like butter to a hot knife against Kylo Ren’s onslaught of arching swipes and the control room door was ripped from its track with no more than a twitch of his fingers. 

_Yes_.

Electrical panelling didn’t stand a chance as brought the light saber down upon it, pieces of debris flying in every direction. The room filled with smoke and sparks but Kylo couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. 

He brought the blade down again. And again. And again and again and--

Stars, it felt so _good_. 

His blood rushed with adrenaline, pupils blown wide behind the darkness of his mask. Every time he sunk his blade deep into the durasteel, a new wave of relief broke over him. The crackling plasma slid easily into the walls only to be tugged back out and rammed home once again. 

More. 

Fuck, he needed _more_. 

The lightsaber fell to the floor, cold and dark. Kylo let out a roar as he lifted his hands, watching the control panels flying from there mounts and into the hall. The sight of the room, completely ruined and bare before him finally providing the release he so desperately needed. 

His knees felt weak and his breath came in gasps that tore at his chest. The wall was cool, even through his cowl, as he slid down it and collapsed on the floor. 

It was then that he heard it.

Still coming down from his high, Kylo held his breath to listen.

Footsteps.

Normally he would walk from the room to face whoever dared interrupt, reveling in the pure terror his image caused. But something held him in place. It was quiet in the hall now, just the sound of sparking wires and the occasional creak of shifting fallout. 

He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the presence just down the hall, although he really didn’t need to since your voice rang out in the hall only seconds later.

“What happened here?”

Your voice, smooth like the sea but with all the commanding force of its crashing waves. It only served to remind him why he was here in the first place. 

Snoke’s mocking words, the shame that built up inside of him, and you. 

_You_.

That’s right. 

This was your fault. You and whatever you did to him that night in the hallway. You invaded his mind while his guard was down. Let him think you were weak and then destroyed everything he’d spent so long working for. 

The fire was back and burning full force pushing him forward, his mind spurring him on to find relief from the growing pressure low in his stomach. 

Even though his rage began to build, Kylo stayed put. The persistent chill of your Force, whispered against his cheeks and it was hard to push you away. 

But then he heard the footsteps shuffle quickly away, disappearing down the hall, taking your calming touch with them. 

And the fire blazed on. 

***

AK-2077 tugged firmly at your arm, walking so that his body stood between you and the destroyed control room. He hurried the two of you along and didn’t let go until the air cleared and the hall opened up into a large corridor lined with long glass windows. Neither of you spoke and it was strange to see him so deadly serious. 

“2077?” Your voice felt odd breaking the silence but it seemed to pull him back from whatever mode he’d slipped into, “2077…”

“I’m so sorry about that, ma’am.” He let go of your arm gently, hopping back, “I just needed to get you out of there, I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t mean to overstep--”

“It’s okay! Its okay,” you stopped him before he got started again, “but I would like you to tell me what that _was_.” 

“...well..uh...I-It’s-”

“Honey, take a deep breath for me.” He stopped his nervous fidgeting, finally focusing on your face and inhaling slowly letting out a long sigh. “Very good, now can you tell me why you mentioned the Commander?”

2077 looked at you for a few seconds before answering, his voice small and quiet, “He did it.” 

“What?”

“The Commander….” You nodded in encouragement as your brows knit further and further together, “He did it.”

“Commander Ren destroyed that room?” 

You recalled the fear that froze AK-2077 in his tracks. The sickening, twisted anger which crawled under your skin. And then you thought about how Kylo’s hand felt in yours. Warm and shy and not letting go until the last second. You thought about the anxious twitching of his fingers and the feeling of worn leather on the back of your neck. 

And for a second, you almost didn’t believe it. 

But then you remembered that night under the light of the viewport. You thought of the crashing wave of anger that radiated throughout the entire hallway and struck you to the core. 

“We aren’t supposed to speak disrespectfully of the officers…” 2077 answered, although you sensed a ‘but’ coming and you were right, “it’s just that, well, the Commander is a bit notorious for that sort of, um, thing.”

2077 started walking once more and you followed, listening with increasing trepidation as he explained Kylo Ren’s dark reputation among the ‘troopers. 

He spoke quickly and quietly about how soldiers go missing on rounds only to show up in the med bay the next day. Broken bones litter their bodies and telltale hand print of bruises mark their throats.

Under the armor and helmet.

Images swam back and forth in your head as you listened. The shy, childish face which flushed and flitted and lingered began to shift. It mixed and and twisted into something large, dark, and brooding. The dangerously shining helmet no longer hid a youthfully expressive face, but a shadowy and malevolent snarl full of sharp teeth and hatred. 

Just like his gaze, Kylo’s reputation seemed out of place.

You tried to take your mind off of the Commander by staring out of the glacing out of the glass panels. Many intersecting walkways crossed perilously over vertical tracts for elevators and ships of all kinds.

This section seemed to wrap around the entire base and was filled with hundreds of Stormtroopers, all traversing the confusing network of metal and fluorescent lights. 

2077 didn’t pause in his conversation--which had traversed back into a more mundane territory-- as he stopped by a wide doorway and quickly typed in an access code on the keypad. It slid open with a hiss and he lead you out onto one of the walk ways.

“Sector B is just on the other side,” he informed you, while still walking ahead, “technically we, uh, well we aren’t supposed to use this area to travel between sectors, but we do it anyway if we’re late to shifts...that why it’s a secret.” 

“Huh,” you hummed, suppressing a smile at his endearing ramblings, “so there are stations like this between every sector?” 

“Yes ma’am, but they’re mainly used for transportation of First Order resources and, um...such.”

“This place is like a puzzle, isn’t it?” 

“You get used to it.” AK-2077 chirped and led you up onto a walkway. 

Groups of ‘troopers passed you, some brushed by 2077 in annoyance but apologized quickly upon seeing you trailing behind him. Others stepped aside completely to allow the two of you to pass before continuing on, often turning to steal another glance at you over their shoulders. 

You nodded your head in greeting and smiled as you went. 

The man in front of you slowed his pace so you could join him, “Seems like you’re pretty, uh popular, ma’am.” he said. 

“I must have met them all at some point, it’s just so hard to tell with everyone wearing those helmets.” you responded with a gesture towards his head. 

“I don’t really think that’s it, ma’am…” he trailed off again. 

You glanced over at him, “What do you mean?” 

“Well, from what I’ve been hearing...um, rumors about your work have been circulating for a while now.” He was looking ahead, but shifted his gaze your way for a second. 

“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately too...” You mumbled and he nodded.

“That’s not very surprising,” He looked forward again, stepping aside to allow another group of ‘troopers to pass, “It’s not very often when one of the higher ups, like you, takes an interest in us.” 

“I’m hardly a ‘higher up’, 2077,” you said and moved to walk next to him again.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he sighed, “when you’re a ‘trooper, everybody’s higher up than you.” 

You weren’t given the opportunity to respond as he lead you to another pair of sliding doors at the end of the walkway. He typed in his code and you both entered into what seemed to be Sector B.

Walking a few yards down the hall, you came to an elevator, and AK-2077 pressed the button for level 5. He continued spitting his word salad but you welcomed the white noise of conversation. It was calming as you stood, elevator rising upwards slowly. 

The doors slid open shortly after closing and you stepped out into yet another identical hallway. You wondered, idly, what cruel mind thought that this incessantly prevailing symmetry was a good idea.

After traveling through another series of turns, although not as many as before, 2077 came to a halt and gestured to the room in front of him. A shiny silver labeling plate identified it as B552. The trip hadn’t taken as long as expected.

So at least you that going for you. 

“Thank you so much, 2077” you said to the ‘trooper and he nodded enthusiastically. 

“Absolutely no problem at all, ma’am!” 

He offered you a small salute that made you smile, “You know, you never mentioned what your nickname was.” 

“Oh right!” He pulled at the back of his neck with a chuckle, “Everyone calls me Barker cause, well I mean, it’s pretty obvious--”

“Haha, yeah I get,” you chuckled and stuck your hand out for him to shake, “It’s nice to meet you Barker.”

“Whoa,” he stared down at the hand, “Lex wasn’t kidding, you really do do that.” 

“Shake hands?”

“Yeah…” he whispered, taking your hand in his armored glove and looking back up at you, “do I just move it up and down?”

You felt your eyebrows nearly disappear into your hairline as you nodded. He nearly dislocated your shoulder, but his excitement was worth it. 

“I can’t wait to tell my squadron I actually met you, ma’am.” 

You gave him a questioning stare, “Am I really that interesting?”

“Of course, ma’am!” he continued, his momentum returning full force, “Me and all the other guys you help out, you know, we’re real grateful for what you’re doing for us.”

“Really-” you started, but he cut you off, suddenly serious.

“Not many people care as much as you do.” He said, looking down at the floor, “It's just nice to have someone who’ll listen…” He trailed off again and you frowned slightly.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“So is everyone else,” Barker shrugged, “but no one’s ever bothered with us before.” 

“Well, my door will always be open.” 

“That’s what makes you so special, ma’am,” he said and offered you another small salute, rushing off down the hall. 

You let out a deep breath and replayed the events of the last half hour or so. 

It was certainly a ride to say the least, and you chose to focus on Barker’s ending statements instead of the more concerning middle portion of your morning.

He said that few people cared as much as you did. Cared as much about _them_. This was probably true. Even though you had spent a relatively short amount of time on Starkiller, it was obvious that no one, outside of Phasma, saw the Stormtroopers as anything more than attack dogs. 

Although, after familiarizing yourself with the training they received, you couldn’t blame the other personnel.

‘Troopers were raised to be just that. Dogs who asked no questions and followed every order. It wasn’t even conditioning anymore; it was just abuse. The whole program was inherently disgusting, a moral turpitude. It made you wretch and shiver with its wrongness. 

And dammit, you _did_ care.

You cared a lot, actually. Like you’d said earlier, it was your job. If you stripped your work down to its bones, that’s all there was to it. You were there to give a shit about issues that a majority of the galaxy did not believed in.

It was strange, but you didn’t find this lack faith in your field discouraging. If you were the only one willing to sail out into the storm, then so be it. You knew what horrible and unknown things lurked under the surface, had seen how quickly these diseases could drag a person into the depths of their own minds, how easily they tore lives apart. 

And that only fueled your stubbornness even further.

When the Stormtrooper Program had first been developed, the medical community’s understanding of the mind was juvenile at best and almost nonexistent at worst. Even now, psychology was not considered a legitimate practice throughout most of the galaxy, with the exception of academic institutions, like the one you had studied at. 

The theories surrounding the nature vs. nurture debate were infantile compared to others in similar fields. It was entirely likely that those working on the conditioning of Stormtroopers had absolutely no idea the massive flaw in their plan.

And now you stood, watching it crumble around you like the Death Star.

Everyone believed it was indestructible.

But nothing ever really is. 

Not war machines, not science, and especially not people. 

Of course, the fact that the public viewed your work as nothing more than a pseudoscience was not going to make your job here any easier. First you had to convince someone to believe that mental afflictions were a serious diagnosis _and_ that they existed in the first place. 

For this reason, you had chosen to bring your findings to the only person on Starkiller who you knew harbored some sentiment for her men and some sway over the General. If anyone was going to give you a chance, it would be Captain Phasma.

You were only mildly concerned about how much was riding on the opinions of one woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAaaaaaannnnnnddddd its late! So very late! But I refuse to take full responsibility for my past self's confidence in me. I'm moving out and going off to school in a few days so my life has been hectic and stressful to say the least. But hey, I made time for these sad, sad dorks so you're welcome. Poor Kylo man. Han just needs to sit him down and explain love and shit cause the hell if this mess of a boy can ask Snoke about it. Also, I really hoped you enjoyed the heavy sexual undertones in his destruction scene. This child is very frustrated. Very frustrated...but fear not! Soon he will have much more productive ways of gratification *wink* *wink*. Anyway, thank you so much for reading this mess and please please please leave comments/feedback (its so nice to hear what y'all think and you know for motivational purposes). I can't promise I'll be on time with the next update either cause, like, college but I will do my absolute best. The goal is September 3, little Labor Day gift for everybody (if I can get it out on time).


	8. General Principals: Article Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We are, all of us, crippled and twisted. Most of us strive desperately to keep our grotesqueness out of sight and mind. Our suffering is transformed by an alchemy of the soul into addiction, ulcers, strokes, hatred, even war.”  
> ― Keith Ablow, Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We last left our dear reader as she at her first meeting with the infamous Captain Phasma. What will the Captain think of her proposal? Will Kylo Ren ever pull his shit together? Will the reader finally catch a break? All this and more in the next installment!

The door in front of you opened with a familiar, metallic swish as you entered the conference room. Phasma would be here soon, so you busied yourself with reviewing notes and the proposal you’d managed to scrape together. 

It was lacking, you knew that. Loose ends that were never tied up and explanations with very little evidence behind them littered the pages, but what more could you do? Everything was speculation at this point because you were the first one to speculate any of it. 

Hopefully your skills of persuasion were up to par because your fact-based evidence certainly was not. Maybe you would _have_ evidence if Hux would give you the resources to do your damn job right. 

But then again, if he had, you wouldn’t be here right now. 

You let out a frustrated sigh just as the doors opened behind you and heavy footfalls announced the Captain’s presence. 

“Good morning, Doctor,” she said, the helmet making her voice crackle with static. 

“Good morning to you as well, Captain.”

“I trust you found your way here without too much trouble. My apologies, I meant to send one of my ‘troopers to escort you.” 

“It was no trouble, thank you though.” You thought of Barker and smiled, “I did have a little guidance.” 

She nodded and you took that to mean the small talk was over. Which was fine by you. She struck you as a woman with little time for pleasantries and you could respect that. 

You made a mental note to never ask her about the weather. 

Phasma gestured towards the table and you took a seat as she maneuvered her large, armored frame into the chair beside you. The energy of the room was just a little to tense for your liking, but there was a certain, vague curiosity that you felt when she glanced at you. 

Or at least you thought she did. It was hard to tell without seeing her eyes. 

“This may take some time, Captain. If you’d be more comfortable removing your helmet, please feel free to do so.” you suggested cautiously. 

You had been on Starkiller long enough to discover that troopers were almost always mildly uncomfortable when asked to remove their helmets. Hopefully Phasma would be a different story. You figured the possibility of a face to face conversation was worth the risk.

Luckily, she seemed relieved that you had offered and lifted the chrome head piece off, placing it on the table. 

Trying not to gawk, you glanced over quickly. 

Her short blonde hair was wild with curls and a pale complexion reflected the sterile lighting of the room. The eyes that stared back at you were almost white, her gaze battle-hardened and weary. She was fiercely handsome, you hadn’t been expecting that. 

“Shall we get to it then?” she asked, her voice lighter without the helmet in place. 

“Of course,” You agreed and flicked on your datapad. 

Scrolling through numerous documents, you finally located your case notes. Time to get down to business.

You sat straight, turning your upper body towards Phasma, with legs crossed at the ankles and folded your hands on your lap. 

“I’m sure you’ve been informed, Captain, of my assignment regarding your troops,” you began and Phasma nodded, “Considering the circumstances, it seemed prudent to meet with you and explain what my work will entail.”

“Is that really why you wanted to meet with me, Doctor?”

She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward a bit in her seat. You swallowed, caught off guard by the sharpness of her response. You got the sense that Phasma wasn’t really appreciating your tone. 

“I would greatly benefit from your cooperation on this project,” you replied quietly. 

The conversation was already slipping away from your grasp. If your general manner of professionalism wasn’t going to work, you needed to figure out what would. Quickly. You needed her to trust you.

“And what, exactly, would my cooperation entail?” Phasma asked, raising her eyebrows. 

“Simply allowing me to study the interactions of your men up close. Potentially observing training sessions, conducting interviews, things of that nature.” you replied.

She continued to regard you with narrowed eyes, you found she had a very unsettling gaze. It wasn’t like the Commander’s who felt as though could sense everything in your head with just a glance. No, Phasma’s was calculating in a different sort of way.

It gave you the feeling that she had already deduced at least three ways to kill you if you were to make the wrong move.

You took a shallow breath and decided to take a risk, “Actually, I’m especially interested in your unit and the ones you work closely with.” 

Phasma’s look grew sharper at your comment, her body stiffening. It was a long shot, but maybe an emotional approach would get you on her good side. She seemed to cared about her men and she didn’t know you, so it was understandable that there would be a lack of trust. 

You just needed an opportunity to show her that the two of you had that in common. 

“They spend the most time deployed and on combative duty than any other divisions.” you clarified, holding your hands palms-up in a gesture of peace.

She visibly relaxed, but her suspicious gaze morphed into one of confusion, “How does their time spent in battle have anything to do with your research?” 

This took you by surprise. 

You would have assumed that she’d seen battle enough to know what it can do to a person. Maybe she just needed a bit of prompting. It wasn’t a easy thing to discuss. 

“Captain,” you began, allowing some of your weariness and frustration to slip into your words, “are you aware of why I’ve been hired to study your Stormtroopers?” 

Phasma gave you a puzzled look and tilted her head, “Something to do with our forces being depleted? I was told they’d be hiring another doctor to look in on the illness that seems to be afflicting them.” 

So, she _didn’t_ know. 

“Well, yes, that would be putting it simply,” you replied. 

She leaned back in her seat and let out a quiet sigh, “No offense to you, Doctor, but I don’t see how one more person is going to help with anything.”

 _I’m not just one more person_ , you thought desperately, willing her to understand how badly you wanted to help. How you knew that you could if she would help you first. 

But she had no idea why you were really here.

The fact that she had agreed to meet with you despite this spoke volumes. 

It seemed like you were right. The way to get Phasma on board was to show her that you quite a bit in common. And right now, you were both tired and frustrated with your jobs. 

“I promise you, Captain, I’m not like any Doctor you’ve seen before.” 

“Well then, do you have any idea what’s been causing it? Our other specialists believed it was caused by head injury but the results were, ‘inconclusive,’ I believe was the word.” 

Phasma’s tone was full of exasperation. In the minute amount of information you’d gotten from Hux you’d deduced that this issue with the ‘troopers had been going on for quite some time, and no one in the Medical Wing could find out what the hell was wrong with them. 

That’s where you came in, supposedly. Although, you weren’t certain that the General actually knew what your job entailed. To be fair, you flying pretty blind too. 

The First Order must have been desperate for answers to hire you at all, and with the sheer amount of ‘troopers being detained, that wasn’t surprising. 

“Actually I do,” you replied, looking down at the notes on your datapad and sighing deeply, “In fact, I’m almost positive I know what it is.” 

She sat up in her seat once more at the resignation in your tone, looking more concerned than relieved at the thought of your diagnosis. 

“Is that so?” She asked softly, “If you truly have figured it out, Doctor, then why haven’t you reported this to the General?” 

Her gaze was analyzing you once again. 

“I’ve tried,” you said simply. “He’s been...difficult to get a hold of. That’s why I asked to speak with you.” 

Phasma fixed you with a wide-eyed look, her jaw set hard in place. You knew she could sense your trepidation and that she was afraid of what it meant. 

“What exactly do you believe is wrong with my men, Doctor?” 

You took a deep breath and ran a hand across your face before continuing, “Do you know what a psychologist does, Captain?”

She shook her head, “No.” 

“Well psychology involves the mind and its processes. More specifically, my work is focused on what illnesses can affect it and how they can be treated.” 

Phasma’s look of concern died on her face at your words, “You think there’s something wrong with their _minds_? I’m sorry, Doctor, but how does one injure their _mind_ in battle?” 

It was your turn to narrow you gaze on her. You have always been good at controlling your temper, but it escapes you when someone insults your work. 

With hands balled in fists at your sides, you met Phasma’s eyes with a stony look and willed her to hear every the constant frustrated screaming in your head. 

You were trying so hard to help the ‘troopers. _Her_ ‘troopers. You were dedicating your life and body and soul to this job—a job where you were doing the work of at least ten people completely unaided. 

You were sacrificing your health and sanity for the protection and improvement of that of the First Order’s soldiers. You stuck your neck out for them at every opportunity, which was more than you could say for Captain Phasma, since she so clearly had no goddamn idea what the hell was going on with the ‘troopers.

Or if she did, she had done nothing for them. Out of all the officers, you would have thought Phasma would be the one to understand. 

But here you were, being ignored or written off or _threatened_ by the officers including the General himself. 

Phasma could go to hell if she thought you’d let her walk all over you too. Screw getting on her good side if she was just going to laugh at your profession. 

And screw her for not taking you seriously. 

All the anger and annoyance and desperation that had been piling up layers of sleep deprived nights and too much coffee was pouring out of you in waves. 

Fuck General Hux. 

Fuck Captain Phasma. 

Fuck the Commander.

And fuck the First Order. 

Phasma stared at you, eyes wide as you glared at her. She remained silent as you finally opened your mouth. 

“I’ll tell you how, Captain,” your voice was dangerously level, “you watch your comrades being slaughtered around you. You see them as they lay dying, choking on their own blood or so mutilated by artillery explosions that they’re barely recognizable as bodies.”

Phasma’s face is twisted in a strange expression you can’t quite explain, but she still said nothing and you didn’t really care what she had to say anymore anyway, “You follow meaningless orders to go into battle and watch this same scene play out, over and over and over again until it’s all you see when you close your eyes.”

“Sometimes all it takes is someone dropping a plate in the mess hall or a door slamming shut to send you back onto the battlefield. Anything could be blaster fire just waiting to kill you where you stand.”

Your eyes never leave hers, but your thoughts are drifting elsewhere—a farmhouse is burning in the distance and bodies lie at your feet. 

“You don’t sleep anymore because the nightmares are far too real to just be dreams. You’re angry at any given moment and sometimes you just can’t breathe because it’s all too much. And no one will ever believe there is anything wrong with you because they can’t see the trauma,” your voice is growing steadily softer with every word, but you press on. 

“It's not a physical injury. You didn’t break your leg or crack your head so there can’t be anything wrong with you. They just keep sending you back into the fight until your lack of sleep and behavioral outbursts keep you from being deployed again.”

You took a long, deep breathe and dropped your gaze to the desk and datapad with the case notes pulled up. The faces of troopers are illuminated on the screen and stare back at you pleadingly, “It’s a from of mental illness called post traumatic stress disorder, Captain. I can assure you, it is very real and extremely painful for those who suffer from it.” 

There was a few seconds of complete silence in which neither of you dared to speak or even breathe. When you finally glanced back at her, you saw a switch had flipped behind her eyes. 

“Is that what you believe is wrong with my troops, Doctor?” She asked, any sign of laughter erased from her face entirely. 

It was your turn to be shocked. Maybe you were right, an emotional approach was certainly the way to go. Although, you hadn’t meant to get _this_ emotional. 

“Yes,” you answered quietly. 

She gave a slight nod and ran a armored hand through her loose curls, “And you can cure them?” 

You bit your lip and sighed, “Well, not exactly. The current evidence we have suggests that mental illness can’t be cured, so to speak.” 

The Captain looked at you in alarm and you quickly added, “But, I can treat them.”

“How does one go about doing that?” She asked and leaned forward in her seat. 

“You mean, you’ll hear me out?” The shock on your face must have looked pretty damn comical as the ghost of a wry smile shifted across Phasma’s face. 

“If you had the guts to speak to me the way you just did, Doctor, then you must genuinely care for what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do,” you sounded a bit incredulous, but she waved you off. 

“That’s a rare thing to find here,” she explained with shrug of her massive shoulders. “I’ve heard from my unit that you’re very popular with the troops,” Phasma paused to look you up and down then met your eyes once more, “after that performance, I can’t say I was disappointed.” 

“What does that mean?”

“In my opinion, the First Order could use more strong women in positions of authority,” she said, “the ‘troopers seem to think your the woman for the job, Doctor, and I believe I agree with them.” 

You stared blankly at her until you felt smile begin to creep across your cheeks, the curdling anger from before fading into a far more productive sense of determination, “Thank you, Captain.” 

“So,” Phasma continued in a more serious tone, “would you be so kind as to explain these so called ‘mental illnesses’ to me?”

“How much time do you have free this morning, Captain?” you asked in response, shifting into a more comfortable position, leaning forward and uncrossing your legs 

“I have no other duties to attend to for another hour or so...why?” A matching grin had fully formed on Phasma’s face as well.

“Well, it seems that this is-”

“Going to take awhile?”

“Only if you’d like to learn.”

Her face was cocktail, two parts determination and one part challenge, “If it would help my men, I’d stay here all day.”

At that, you leaned back in the chair, shrugging off your blazer and reaching for the datapad to plug into its dock at the center of the long black table. Your presentation sprang to life, notes and images projected in green above your head.

“In that case,” you said with a nod, “let’s get started.”

***

“I can see now why you are so concerned,” Phasma said as she walked beside you down the corridor, “If this sickness is caused by trauma to the mind and not physical injury, then that would imply that the ‘trooper’s training is faulty.” 

You walked in step with the Captain and, surprisingly, managed to keep up with her long strides as the two of your walked back to your office.

With the meeting concluded, she had insisted on escorting you back. Although, this felt like an excuse to further discuss what you had shared with her. Along the way, you passed groups of Stormtroopers quickly snapped to attention, Phasma always nodded in acknowledgment with her helmet back in its rightful place. 

“Yes, the conditioning is meant to remove all the biological factors of their development—” you continued. 

“But if what you say is true, and these ‘genes’ do exact such immense control over the body and the mind contained within it—”

“Then it means that the platform for the Stormtrooper Program being used by the First Order has a massive flaw in its design. One that’s been present since its beginnings in the Empire.”

It wasn’t until now that you realized just how much you had been craving this kind of back-and-forth discussion. Your pace quickened and the excitement of intellectual stimulation began to overtake your usual composure. 

“And that would mean—” Phasma began once more. 

“Yes. It would mean a complete rewrite. The entire plan would have to be torn apart and built back up all over again. I’m not even sure it could be fixed when the overall concept itself is the problem.” you rambled, unable to keep your hands from gesturing wildly. 

“I’m not saying I am wholeheartedly convinced, Doctor, but if you’re right, something must be done.” She answered with conviction that only spurred you on further. 

“Certainly, but I could never do it by myself. And as it is now, I’m the only member of my department,” you threw your hands up in exasperation, “Not to mention the General would have to believe me first.” 

“That will be a feat in and of itself.” Phasma said dryly, an image of the ginger prick in question drifted through your mind at her comment. 

“Actually, Captain, I mentioned before that I didn’t just come to you for access to the ‘troopers,” she glanced down at you, “I require your help with one other endeavor of mine.”

“What would you ask me to do?” she inquired, her tone honest. 

“I need you to put in a word with General Hux,” you said, praying she would agree, “I had hoped that your connection to the troops would make you more inclined to hear me out, but I also heard that the General is...well intimidated by you, to a degree, and I’ve had very little luck on that front. He’s been...less than cooperative.”

“That does not surprise me in the slightest.” The two of you had now reached your office door. She stopped to stand with her back facing the hallway. 

“I was hoping he may be more open to hearing it from you. All I want is a chance to present my case,” you leaned back against the door, “ These soldiers are suffering, and I can help them, but not on my own. I’d need a team and resources—but I know I could do it. It’s just that everyone here is so incredibly uninformed.”

“To be honest with you, Doctor, I was surprised when I heard they’d hired a physiologist.”

“Psychologist.” you corrected and she held a hand up apologetically.

“Of course. It took years for Doctor Murdock to convince Hux that your position was necessary.” Phasma explained. 

Murdock. The name sounded familiar, but you couldn’t quite place the it. “Could you remind me who that is?” you asked. 

“She’s the head of the Medical Wing on Starkiller. She’s currently deployed with a number of my troops on a mission, so I’m not surprised you haven’t met her yet. But I recall, she was quite insistent on hiring you.” 

“Was she really? I can’t wait to meet her then,” you said with a small laugh and Phasma nodded. 

“In any case, I will speak to the General for you.” 

“I can’t thank you enough, Captain.” You gave her an appreciative smile and felt the slight warmth in the air around you which signaled she returned the expression, although it quickly grew cold once more. 

“I should also mention, Doctor,” she began, voice lowered, “while it was was and incredibly impressive stunt that you pulled in the hallway with Hux yesterday, but I would advise against making anymore of such scenes.”

You blinked in confusion at the seriousness with which she spoke, “Why do you say that?”

“I said before that it was passion was a rare thing on Starkiller,” she explained quietly and glanced down the deserted hall, “that kind of behavior can attract the attention of certain people on base, and being in the stoplight on Starkiller is _never_ a good thing.”

An image of the hallway from earlier that morning, littered with debris and completely destroyed appeared at her words. 

“Am I wrong in assuming you mean the Commander, Captain?” 

She actually laughed at that, it was short but the mood lightened a bit at the gesture, “Yes, I suppose so, but I can promise there are far worse things than Ren in the First Order.” 

“Noted. The warning is much appreciated, and everything else you’ve done,” you responded and she inclined her head towards you before turning to leave. 

“It's the least I can do, not many people on base would put in this kind of work for my ‘troopers,” Her heavy steps echoed down the hall as you pushed off the door and reached towards the keypad to your office door.

“So I’ve heard”, you mumbled as you entered and tossed your leather bag onto the desk. 

The meeting had been far more successful than you could have hoped. Despite going on for two hours longer than expected, it had not set you back too far time wise. You still had a little less than an hour until your first appointment at 1100 hours, so you grabbed your datapad and walked over to the love seat situated in the corner.

Settling in a comfortable position on the cushions, you opened the list of your patients. Numbers and pictures flashed before on the screen and you set about committing them all to memory. 

You may never know the codes of all the thousands of ‘troopers on Starkiller, as Phasma most likely did, but you could at least remember the names, or codes, of the ones you were treating. 

A little while later, your datapad flashed a message in bright red: _Appointment with MD-3147 at 1100 Hours._

You pulled yourself off of the couch and made your way towards the desk. You flicked on both monitors and connected the datapad to its dock to load your patient files with their notes onto the larger screens. 

Just as you were about to pull up your next patient’s file, a quiet ring alerted you to a new message. Pulling up your inbox, you selected the most recent incoming alert. The identification number was not one with which you were familiar, but its priority level—indicated by the first three digits—was very high. Hoping that it was good news from Phasma, you opened it immediately. 

However, upon further inspection, you realized it was most certainly not from Phasma, but from the one man you had least expected to hear from. 

According to his short and passively rude message, General Hux was requesting (ordering) that you meet with him today at 2000 hours in his office. You got the feeling that this was _not_ prompted by any words from the Captain. Instantly, a feeling of dreadful anticipation crawled into your skin. 

Thankfully your last appointment was scheduled to end at 7:00 p.m. 1900 hours, you supposed, but it was taking you awhile to adjust to military time. At least you wouldn’t have to cancel last minute on a patient. But, you wished there had been some conflict, anything to excuse you from meeting with an obviously pissed off Hux. 

Then there was the last line of his request: _I have new orders to discuss with you._

What new orders? Were you being reassigned? If so, where? And doing what? Would this affect your work with the Stormtroopers? Or maybe Phasma _had_ spoken with him and the General had decided you were completely insane. 

The knock at your office door broke through the nervous flow of thoughts. A quick glance at the monitor told you it was 11:00 a.m. You stood, straightened your skirt, and walked over to let in your patient. Familiar calm washed away your anxiety as the comfort of professionalism took over. 

Greeting MD-3147, you led him over to the chair across from your desk and sat down opposite him. Worrying about tonight would have to wait, you were on the clock now, and this time was not yours to waste.

You had a job to do. 

***  
In the depths of Starkiller Base, Kylo Ren was mediating. 

His private quarters were devoid of noise and the only light in the room came from several flickering candle flames which filled the air with a waxy scent of smoke. The atmosphere appeared outwardly calm and in no way reflected the raging turmoil which plagued its occupant. 

Kylo was attempting desperately to quell the churning mess of thoughts inside his head, but it had proved to be a useless endeavor. 

Snoke’s face, twisted and gnarled and full of mocking disappointment, swirled angrily together with the sound of clicking heels on durasteel. 

A tremor passed through him, settling in his hands which trembled and shook. 

He needed to calm down. Wanted to calm down. Prayed for the constricting feeling in his chest to disappear. Kylo squeezed his eyes shut and pushed back against the torrent in his mind as hard as he could. It felt as though all the hot blood in his body was rushing to his head as he tried desperately to dredge up any ounce of power that may finally close the floodgates in his mind. 

...breathe…

The word was so quiet, he barely noticed the soft whisper it against his neck. 

...Breathe…

He almost couldn’t make it out against the rushing of his thoughts and the fire burning under his skin. 

... _Breathe_ …

Everything in his head went quiet as if time itself had frozen around him. 

A figure stood before him surrounded by complete blackness. Its shifting edges moved like water trickling in a stream but rocked and churned like ocean during at storm at its core. A soft glow illuminated the darkness, reminiscent of starlight reflecting off the sea. 

He could feel a familiar, insistent pull from somewhere deep inside him. Kylo let his arm reach out towards the shifting figure as it held out a hand for him to take. The closer he got, the more he felt the fire in his veins receding. 

But then it spoke. 

_Breathe_. 

Your voice echoed out into the nothingness surrounding him. And then everything fell apart. 

You. 

In the light of the hallway, the shadows of snowfall drifting across your face. 

You.

Your hand in his hand, so small but firm and warm against his palm. 

You. 

Head tilted back and lips curling while you spoke, not an ounce of fear on your features.

You. 

The wall of Snoke's chamber just as cold as his master’s words. 

You. 

You did this to him. 

You.

You.

 _ **You**_. 

_**YOU**_.

_Bang!_

The loud twang of plastoid on durasteel thrust him back to the present. Kylo’s eyes flew open, adjusting to the dim light. His fingernails had dug holes through his palms which dripped blood onto the rug. Ragged gasps tore through his lungs as he stood, all the joints in his body collectively popping. 

His boots dug hard into the floor as he crossed his quarters and grabbed his helmet from its pedestal, shoving on his head. He waved a bloody hand and the door was nearly torn from its tracks. 

Behind it stood trembling Stormtrooper, starkly white against the dark hallway.

Before the soldier could so much as speak, they were flung like a rag doll across the hallway. The ‘trooper’s limb form was slowly lifted off the floor as Kylo’s hand rose from his side. 

“What?” his voice was deadly low in the crackle of the modulator. They clawed at their throat, gasps filtering through the invisible fingers constructing their breathing. 

“SPEAK!” Kylo bellowed, dropping the ‘trooper to the ground where they scrambled quickly to stand at attention. 

“Yes, Commander,” they answered, voice no more than a rasp, “I have a message from General Hux, sir.”

“Well what is it?!” 

“The General says the Supreme Leader requests your presence tonight at 2000 hours” the ‘trooper managed to get out before giving into a violent coughing fit. 

Kylo let out a deep growl. 

Fire and smoke clouded his vision. 

He wasn’t sure exactly when he had pulled his lightsaber from its clip and ignited it, but suddenly the ‘trooper was running and sparks erupted from the wall as the hot, plasma blade sliced through it like paper. He stalked off down the hallway, tearing into anything in his path. With every swing of the saber he silently prayed for some sort of release. 

It never came. 

The fire growing inside of him was only stoked by the destruction. 

You would not leave his thoughts. 

_Your fault_. 

He repeated it over and over again with every slash he took at the wall until he could move his arms no longer. 

The lightsaber fizzled out and he stumbled back towards his quarters and slammed the door behind him. Snoke wanted to see him. It was never a good thing when his master called upon him so soon after their last meeting. 

And it had to be because of you. 

_Your fault_. 

He tore the helmet from his head and dropped to the floor of the entryway. 

Kylo Ren closed his eyes and attempted to focus his mind once more. But only one thought repeated itself, in a slow and rhythmic chant. He could not allow himself to be pulled into your traps and made a fool of. You would pay for what you had done. But for now, he had to compose himself. 

It wouldn’t do to disappoint his master a second time. 

***  
Well it was tonight, and you were, in fact, worrying. 

Your last patient for the night had just left, and you were currently debating just how detrimental it would be if you just didn’t show up. 

Hux would most likely fire you on the spot. 

Or kill you. 

Or both. 

Best case scenario, you escape with minor defensive injuries and a suspension. 

Staring down at the floor tiles and tried to gather the motivation to get up from your desk. You knew you needed to go to this meeting. But it wasn’t really because you’d be jeopardizing your personal safety by not attending. It was another one of those ‘feelings’ you had sometimes. The same sensation that made you decide to take this position in the first place. 

_Clearing the ground_. 

You had no idea what was going to happen in the next two hours, but it felt important. But you were certainly never going to find out if you didn’t get off your ass and go to the damn meeting. With that, you finally got off your ass and made your way out the door. The hallway was empty—no surprise there—as you walked towards the elevator and pressed the floor number of Hux’s office. All the higher ranking First Order officials had their offices and quarters on the upper levels of Starkiller. Needless to say, yours was fairly low by comparison. 

You fiddled with the button on your blazer, smoothing out the wrinkles. The elevator continued to pass floor after floor as you lost yourself in thought. Phasma’s words from before were still bothering you. 

Especially the way she’d laughed when you brought up the Commander. 

You probably would have laughed too had you not seen what you did in the hallway. The entire place had been decimated. It was impossible to not be just a little wary of someone who could rip a piece of durasteel to shreds like that. 

But even still, it felt so contradictory. 

Phasma seemed to think so too, since she found it so hilarious that you’d imply the Commander was something to be concerned about. So maybe you were onto something with your original impression of him. Young, clumsy, a little awkward, and trying his very hardest to be anything but that. 

Maybe Kylo Ren wasn’t so bad. 

You liked to think you were usually right in your assumptions of people. It wasn’t something you tended to be good at. 

Although, if Hux’s attitude towards you was any indicator, you were not very adept at staying on their good sides. 

With that, the elevator doors finally opened and you forced yourself to step out into the hall. 

It seemed to have let you off in the section containing all the officers quarters—you had once caught the General as he was walking back to his room for the night—so you headed right down the hall towards the offices. 

Once again the hall was silent, the loud, echoing click of your shoes was the only sound. 

That is until you heard the distinct pounding of heavy boots pounding down the hall behind you. The footsteps grew louder and you half expected to turn around only to find no one there. 

But instead, you were met with billowing, black fabric and the glint of an all too familiar mask. 

***

Kylo Ren couldn’t shake the feeling of apprehension that had been plaguing him since he’d received the order to meet with Snoke. 

It had loomed over his shoulders like the dark clouds of an approaching storm all afternoon. 

It followed him through his meditation, training sessions, and it followed him now as he made his way through the hall of officers quarters. 

And then he heard it. 

_Click. Click. Click._

Heels on durasteel. 

You. 

The anger overtook him like a tidal wave before he even had a chance to suppress it. He turned the corner, boots pounding and blood rushing in his ears. Everything went black around him. The only thing Kylo could see was your figure freezing at the end of the hall. 

You turned slowly, your face illuminated by the artificial lights. 

Had he been thinking straight, Kylo might have noticed how different the scene was from your first meeting, the night in the hallway. 

There was no snow drift to cast gentle shadows on your face, instead, harsh fluorescents highlighted the dark circles under your eyes, and brought a sallow sheen to your face. 

No gentle glow from the view port reflected off your cheeks, and if he’d looked closer, he might have noticed how sunken they now appeared. 

Had he taken the time to notice these things, he may have been concerned. 

But he didn’t notice them. 

Or terrified look on your face as he raised his hand and ripped through the thin film of energy protecting your mind. 

He needed an answer. 

_Why you?_

***

The second Kylo Ren raised his hand, your head exploded in crushing pain. You thought you might have screamed but then everything went black. The only thing that remained was the Commander, steadily making his way towards you through the darkness, hand outstretched towards you. 

You felt a rushing sensation, as though you were a ship just entering hyperspace. It was almost impossible to breathe even when the rushing faded and you were left floating adrift. 

An uncomfortable feeling of intrusion filled you.

A presence hung darkly over in front of you and worn leather gloves settled at the back of your head. 

Then the images began. 

_Barker leading you through the halls this morning. His rapid speech and excitement as he shook your hand. The control room ripped to pieces. Deep slashes gouged into the walls._

_The desk in your quarters, littered with textbooks and pages of notes. Your slouched form typing a report for Phasma and only pausing to take sips of coffee._

_Your conversation with Felix and Samara in the mess hall. Their harsh whispers about the Commander and your own disbelief._

_A slew of scenes from Hux’s ever vacant office. Your frustration and helplessness as you promised BC-3170 that the General would listen. The fear in your heart that you might have been lying._

_Phantom footsteps following you down every corridor in Starkiller. The blaster shot to your chest. You, looking into the mirror only to see yourself covered in blood, dripping from you hands._

_Your quarters, engulfed in flames. The distorted, fiery figure from your dreams bearing down on you. Your fear, your confusion, your own voice ringing in your ears. “GET OUT.”_

_A farmhouse was burning in the distance. Bodies were scattered everywhere. Smoke rose like a spiraling storm cloud over the field where you stood. Your bare feet pounded against the earth as you ran._

_Fear was heavy and deep and everywhere._

You tried to close your eyes against the memory, but the presence hanging over you would not let go. 

_The farmhouse collapsed in front of you, folding in on itself like a house of cards._

What was this? You didn’t understand, but you wanted nothing more than for it to stop. 

Get out. 

_A scream ripped through your throat, sore from breathing in the ash and smoke_. 

You lifted your hands, placing them on the sides of the helmet before you. The scene flickered and began to fade as you pushed back against the invading force. 

GET OUT.

You eyes shot open. Breathes tore through your chest as though you’d sprinted a full mile. Your knees were pressed hard to the durasteel floor of the hall.

And in front of you was the Commander. 

Even kneeling he struck an imposing figure. His hands were so big they nearly engulfed your whole head from where they were placed, locked behind your neck. The metal of his mask was cool under your palms as you gripped it, only inches from your face. 

Neither of you dared move, save for the trembling of your hands and knees. 

But then he pressed his helmet against your forehead and suddenly the world was thrown from its axis once more. You could feel his hands as if they were your own, pressed to your neck and unwilling to let go. Sweat dripped down your—his—face under behind the mask that covered it. You felt angry and confused and scared and lost and alone. A fire was burning just under your skin.

There was air entering your lungs in gasps but you couldn’t tell which one of you was taking them. You could feel a crushing pain in your chest, or his, it didn’t matter really, you just wanted it to stop. 

_What’s happening?_

You thoughts echoed strangely, as if there was a slight delay, almost like a holovid when the audio lags just a split second. 

**How are you doing this?**

The voice that spoke in your head was not yours, but at the same time, it didn’t feel out of place. You could feel the Commanders panic beginning to rise in your chest. 

_I don’t know._

There was a pause and then you were overcome with an intense feeling of realization and dread. 

**Oh gods…**

The pressure in your chest was so intense now that you could barely get any air into your lungs. You tried to pull yourself away from whatever was tying you to Kylo Ren, focusing on your own hands and the cool metal beneath them. But instead of the mask, there was warm skin under your palms.

 _Breathe_.

There was a rush of coolness that flooded your throat as you took a deep breathe, and for just a split second, you could no longer tell where your body ended and the Commander’s began. 

But then Kylo Ren was scrambling away from you, tearing his hands away and knocking you back against the wall in the process. You sat and stared up at him in horror and utter bewilderment. 

He lifted his hands, flexing his fingers and glancing around as if the empty hall could provide him with answers. His voice came out more as static than speech as he stuttered nervously and took a couple more steps back. When he finally did speak, it was quiet and rushed, his voice shaking like a child being scolded. 

“Sorry…”

And then he was off, disappearing around the corner and out of sight in a whirl of black fabric. You blinked a few times, trying to make sense of what the fuck just happened, although you couldn’t even begin to formulate an explanation. 

“What..?” you muttered to yourself, still sitting slumped against the wall, “What…”

What _was_ that?

His hands that moved like they were your own. His presence in your mind. The connection. He’d felt so...afraid. You glanced back up the in the direction he’d gone, wanting...wanting...well you didn’t really know what you wanted. Answers for one thing, but your time on Starkiller had taught you never to expect those. 

What were you supposed to do now?

Getting up off the floor would probably be a good start, you supposed. Your hands still shook a bit as you pushed yourself back onto your feet and brushed off your slacks. You looked once more in the direction the Commander had run off and then the other way towards Hux’s office. 

With a shaky sigh, you headed off down the hall. For every troubling scenario, you had the same solution which typically never failed you when it came to avoiding the confrontation of troubling experiences: Work. So the Commander of the First Order had somehow just invaded your memories and then left you high and dry on the hallway floor. 

You still had a job to do.

And Hux would kill you if you were late. 

***

Kylo’s pace slowed as he got closer to Snoke’s chambers and farther from where he’d left you. He couldn’t shake the feeling of your hands on his cheeks or your voice in his head or the way you’d looked at him. 

Confused and...and afraid. 

It wasn’t something he was unused to, but it stung deeply when it came from you. 

The anger which had boiled in him just minutes before was gone now, replaced by a dark and heavy feeling of disgust. 

You weren’t planning to take his place as in Snoke’s favor.

You didn’t have a clue at all about the Force you controlled. 

You weren’t to blame for any of this. 

_What had he done?_

He thought of your hand in his, your strong grip and the smile that flitted across your lips when you spoke. You wouldn’t be looking at him like that after this. Although, he wasn’t quite sure why that thought was so troubling. Kylo hung his head and walked further down the long, desolate corridor towards Snoke’s throne room, replaying your memories in his head. He’d sensed the blackness of his master’s presence in your mind.

The footsteps. The blood. The fire. 

Snoke enjoyed toying with people that way. Dredging up your darkest fears and twisting them into living nightmares. The fact that he’d bothered to dig that deep into you couldn’t be a good sign. Maybe you hadn’t meant to put yourself in the spotlight, but Snoke certainly wanted you there anyway. 

The elevator approached and he stepped inside without a second thought, letting it carry him up into his master’s waiting clutches. A familiar burn was beginning to spread up through his stomach as the elevator opened and he stepped out into the eerie, grayish light of the cavernous room. 

Kylo briefly wondered if he could hide the incident in the hall from his master, but judging by the laugh which boomed and echoed off the walls as he entered the chamber and kneeled before Snoke’s throne, it was too late already. 

Ghostly gnarled fingers had already begun to press against his skull, images of your face flashing before him. 

Snoke leaned back in his throne, a wicked grin splitting his deformed features.

“Well,” he mused dryly, “I’m pleased to see you’ve already become well acquainted with your new teacher.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo, how's it goin'? That cliffhanger, huh? I know that this is, well, um inexcusably late, but college is a bitch and did not account for that. I considered putting this story on hiatus for a bit while I got adjusted but I really just couldn't bring myself to do it, so a new update schedule is in the works currently. I'm still hoping to get one out every three weeks, especially because breaks are coming up soon. Anyway, thank you so much to everyone who commented, it really got me off my ass. I'm freakin psyched so many of y'all like this piece of shit. No surprise, Kylo is a goddamn idiot, but I promise the whole romance thing is gonna pick up after the next few...developments. Get ready y'all ;)


	9. General Principals: Article Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A reliable way to make people believe in falsehoods is frequent repetition, because familiarity is not easily distinguished from truth. Authoritarian institutions and marketers have always known this fact.”  
> ― Daniel Kahneman, Thinking, Fast and Slow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today is just not our poor reader's day. After Kylo Ren goes poking around in her mind, he promptly takes an exit, leaving the reader alone, confused, and there's still that pesky meeting with the General to deal with. Overall, just not her day. Does it get better? Does it get worse? All this and more in the next installment.

The rest of the walk to Hux’s office was a blur. Your steps wobbled, knees still a bit weak from your run in with the Commander. The ‘troopers were gone from in front of the General’s door this time, so you knocked gingerly, trying to fix your hair back in its pins before he answered.

A few seconds past before the door slid open. Hux sat at his desk, glancing up at you nervously as you came him. He motioned to one of the chairs across from him and pushed away the files from the desktop. 

“Please have a seat, Doctor.”

“So, General,” you slowly lowered yourself down and eyed him carefully, “your message was a little vague to say the least.” 

He fixed you with an unamused gaze, “Yes, my apologies for the short notice.” 

Your head was pounding so hard you could feel the pulsing of it behind your eyes and the bright lights of Hux’s office only made it worse.

“May I inquire as to nature of these new orders you wanted to discuss?” 

Hux cleared his throat sharply and sighed, “That is why I requested your presence, Doctor.”

You gave him a short smile and nodded, too focused on trying not to sway in your chair than to think of a clever reply. 

“You’ve been assigned a new project of sorts,” the General began, the hint of a smug grin tugging at his mouth, “working with Commander Ren.” 

Your face deadpanned as he continued on with his explanation. The room had begun to spin and you had to blink a few times to bring everything back to its rightful place. 

“What kind of project do you mean?” 

“From my understanding, you’ll be working as a consultant to him in an effort to help further his training.”  
The smug look had spread completely over Hux’s features. You found it very distasteful, narrowing your eyes, “From your understanding? Pardon my rudeness, but don’t you understand your own orders?” 

His mouth pinched into a straight line, pale lips disappearing almost entirely, “Oh, they aren’t from me, I’m merely relaying the message.” 

“Well, I’d like to know who’s ordering me around,” you knew you were toeing the line with Hux, but every time he opened his mouth, a wave of irritation washed over you. 

“From far higher up than you have a right to ask,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “In any case, you’ll be providing—what was the word? Ah, yes, ‘Emotional Guidance’.”

Hux chuckled at that, making the ringing that had started in your ears nearly unbearable. You took a deep breath, trying to calm the nauseous feeling that was beginning to bubble in your stomach. The General was about to start talking again when there was an incredibly forceful banging on the office door. 

“What the—” he mumbled as he pressed the doors activation switch. 

It slid back swiftly to reveal a seething figure on the other side. She stormed in, seemingly unaware of your presence, and fixed Hux with a look of pure venom. 

“Have you lost your damn mind?!” the woman practically shrieked. 

Her wild red hair fell behind her in loose waves and she was barely taller than your seated form. It would have been almost comical if your head wasn’t spinning. 

“Doctor Murdock, I—” 

Hux’s interjection was only met with an enraged sigh, “You ship me off on a mission promisin’ it’ll only take a week and three months later, I come back to the place in shambles!” 

“This is completely unpreci—”

“Unprecedented my arse! I’m the goddamn head of the medical sector, you have no right to pull that crap. Have you seen what’s been going on?” The woman’s face was nearly as bright as her hair, “Nothin’! Absolutely nothing! It’s a goddamn mess.” 

“I’m occupied right now, I’d be happy to—”

“And who in the hell is this?”

You winced at her tone as she gestured in your direction and gingerly stood—gripping the chair for balance—offering your hand. 

“I’m the new head psychologist,” you said softly, “it’s very nice to meet you...” 

She took your offered hand, shaking it firmly, “You’re tryin’ to get rid o’ me aren’t ya? Look what you’ve made me do! Walk in here screamin’ and embarrassin’ myself in front of the new staff!” 

“Oh, no really I—” 

You trailed off as her eyes narrowed as she leaned in uncomfortably close and studied your face. Her jaw tightened once more, her eyes shifting dangerously to the General. “Good gods Hux, the girl looks about ready to keel over!” She exclaimed, pushing you lightly back into the chair, “Don’t tell me you’re working her _that_ hard.” 

“Well, it might be helpful if I actually had a staff,” you mumbled, swaying in your seat. 

You were really angry. Why were you so angry?

“You didn’t give her a team?!”

Hux finally opened his mouth, fixing you with a cold glare before he spoke, “The topic is still in debate.” 

“The hell it is. I’m getting her fuckin' team and take her to the fuckin' hosptial—she looks like she has a concussion!” Katherine took both of your hands in hers, “Come on, love, up you get.” 

“We’re in the middle of an extremely important meeting!” Hux exclaimed and pushed himself out of his chair, freezing in place when Katherine focused back on him. 

“Well I hope you’re done talking about whatever’s so important cause she’s comin' with me to get looked at,” she growled, slipping a hand around your waist to support you.

Her head only came up to your shoulders standing, but she was solidly built and seemed to have no trouble bearing your weight.

“I’m fine, I just— “

“Oh darlin’, you are far from fine,” she said softly, “I’ll bet my ass she wasn’t even given a physical after she got here, not with the med bay in this state.” 

“I could have you terminated for disrespecting my authority like this, Murdock,” Hux hissed as Katherine helped you out the door. 

She turned over her shoulder and sneered, “That would be a frightful career move on your part, and you know it.” 

With that, she lead you out of the General’s office and down the hallway. You looked down at this woman in pure bewilderment. The thoughts in your head were all running together, but you managed to form something mildly coherent, “I’m sorry, but who the hell are you?” 

She chuckled and glanced up, “Doctor Katherine Murdock, love, head of the Medical Sector. It’s very nice to make your acquaintance.” 

***

Whatever Katherine gave you, it worked wonders...and left you feeling massively embarrassed by your earlier behavior. 

“I can’t believe I talked to him like that,” you moaned, head in your hands. “He’s going to kill me, or fire me. Probably both.” 

A flash of red hair peered around the corner of the exam room you were sitting in, “Oh don’t worry dear, Hux wouldn’t dare fire you now.” 

You heard the sound of drawers being opened and shut along with muffled grumbling as Katherine shuffled back in, a tray of tools in one hand. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, I’m assuming if you were being assigned to work with that self-important, overgrown child in a mask, then someone here has at least some stake in ya,” she quipped, sitting down on a small stool and tying a piece of tubing around your upper arm. 

You glanced warily at the empty syringe on the tray next to her while she rubbed the inside of your elbow with an alcohol wipe. 

“I suppose so…” you glanced at the floor, thinking back to the the Commander and your confusing interactions, “Do you really think he’s a self-important—ow!” 

“Sorry, love.” Katherine chuckled as she filled three or so vials with your blood and set them aside on the tray, “And yes, I do. Now are you going to tell me how you got such a nasty concussion.”

“Oh,” you thought of Kylo Ren, the feeling of his hands, his breath in your lungs, “I slipped in the shower this morning, must have hit my head harder than I thought. 

“Hmm, you don’t strike me as the clumsy type,” she mused and you grimaced as she placed a small piece of gauze where the needle had been. Katherine rolled to the opposite side of the examination bench and checking your ears and throat with her otoscope. 

“So where have you been this whole time?” you asked, hoping to change the subject as she tapped both your knees, watching them kick involuntarily. 

“Deployed on what was meant to be an exploratory mission,” Katherine mumbled and shined a small penlight between your pupils. “Of course, Hux found an excuse to send _me_ of all people. Some horse shit about important officers on board.”

“It does sound a bit counter intuitive to send the head of the medical sector out on active duty,” you added while she rolled out of the room to grab something else from the set of drawers. 

“Well it is, but Armitage Hux will do just about anything to get me killed…” she trailed off and rolled back in, another syringe in hand. “Have you had sex recently?” 

You blinked a few times in shock. 

“...no?”

She smiled and nodded, “Good. Just needed to check, all the women on base are required to receive long-term contraceptive treatment.” 

“Nuisance isn’t really your thing, is it?” 

She just laughed and shook her head, “I was trained as a field surgeon, when you’re in the midst of battle, asking politely isn’t really the first thing that comes to mind.”

You shrugged and held out your arm for her to place the implant in, “You were a field surgeon?”  
“Oh yes, for quite a long time,” there was a slight stinging as Katherine slipped the needle under your skin. “Sorry about that, I think it’s a bit sexist but the higher ups seem to think pregnancy is too large a disruption while conquering the galaxy.”

“I guess that’s a fair concern, but at least it’s free,” you said and she patted your thigh. 

“Alright dear, you’re all done,” she said and tossed the used syringes into a biohazard incinerator on the wall. 

You sighed “So, how does a field surgeon become the head of medicine on Starkiller?”

“Well that certainly is a story,” Katherine hummed, “Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to join up, but my da’ was right pissed about it, did anything to stop me.”

She stretched her hands behind her head and leaned back, fixing you with a mischievous, blue gaze, “So, when I was older, I got my medical license and managed to get myself drafted as a field doctor.”

“That’s one way to do it,” you laughed and she winked. 

“Well I managed to pissed him off even more after that. So, the second this position was available, he traded in some favors and had me taken off active duty.”

“Your father must have friends in high places then.”

Katherine shook her head, “Oh no, love, my father _is_ the friend in high places.” 

“Ah, I suppose that’s why—”

“Hux can’t touch me? Wants me dead?” Katherine fixed you with another playful look, “Most definitely.” 

“I’m sure the former comes in handy then,” you said, standing from the bench and stretching your legs. 

“Most definitely,” she stood as well, kicking the stool out the doorway, “and I’ll make sure that arsehole approves assignment of staff to your department.” 

You could have cried, “Oh thank god.” 

“Anytime, love,” she wandered out of the room, motioning for you to follow, “I’m just glad you’re finally here.”

“I should say the same about you.” 

She lead you down a series of twists and through one of the impossibly long wards into what you recognized as the break room. 

“You’ve been doing just fine without me, from what I’ve heard,” Katherine eyed you, from your head to your shoes, “I can’t say you’re what I expected, but I’m certainly not disappointed. 

She grabbed a small step stool from the corner and climbed it to reach into the cabinets, tossing you what looked like a packaged sweet roll. 

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you mumbled, tearing the wrapper and taking a bite of the pastry, it was sweet and a little dry, but you didn’t mind too much. 

“It is,” she took a bite of her own snack, sitting on the edge of the counter and motion at you with the roll, “you’ve got some sorta fire in ya, girlie. It ain’t too often you see that around here.” 

You couldn’t help the small smile that formed on your lips, “The Captain told me something very similar.” 

“Phasma? She’s good people, I’m not surprised.” 

Katherine was studying you intently with her dark blue eyes once again, there was a faint grin on her face which you got the feeling was always there. She felt warm, her energy overpowering everything else in the room. It was a pleasant feeling, like being wrapped in a blanket fresh from the dryer. 

With a huff, she shimmied her plump frame down from the counter top and dusted the crumbs from her white overcoat, “So, tell me about this working with the Commander business.”

“Well, the General said I was going to act as his consultant to provide ‘emotional guidance’,” you rolled your eyes at the last bit which earned you a laugh from Katherine. 

“That boy certainly needs it,” she shook her head slowly, “there’s a lot of anger in that one.”

“What makes you say that,” you said, leaning in despite yourself.

“Let’s just say I’ve patched him up more than once,” she ran a hand through her tangled, red waves. “The child tears himself apart. No one’s that reckless without hatin’ the world, and no one hates the world without abandoned by it first. 

“Ah,” you sighed, letting a short silence permeate the room until Katherine chimed in again.

“I think you might be able to do him some good,” she said quietly the grin finding its way back onto her lips, “and teach him some damn manners while you’re at it.” 

You smiled at that too, “I’ll do my best.” 

“I’ve got a feeling you always do,” Katherine slapped you on the back and began to rummage around in the drawers behind her. “Damn, it’s nice to finally have someone competent around here. 

Chuckling, you offered her your hand again, “It’s going to be a pleasure working with you, Doctor Murdock.” 

Her grip was hand-crushingly tight, “Likewise, love.” 

***

“Her?” Kylo’s voice was nothing more than a hiss as he pushed himself to his feet to stare at his master, “She knows nothing!”

An invisible, grotesque hand forced his shoulders down and caused his knees to hit the floor so hard he was almost certain the bone had shattered. Snoke’s massive form leaned forward in its throne and leered down with empty, gray eyes. 

“You’ll have something in common then,” his tone was bitingly poisonous.

Kylo bowed his head and kept his gaze trained on the floor, “She isn’t even aware of her own pull.”

“Yes, you would know full well after tonight’s incident,” when he glanced up, Snoke had settled back into his throne and the hologram was studying him with bored expression on his gnarled features. “As you seemed to take it upon yourself to rip her mind to shreds without my permission.” 

His body hit the far wall. Hard. The air was forced from his lungs and he gasped, as he his master chuckled and increased the pressure holding him there. 

“I meant no—” Kylo whispered, but his helmet turned the phrase to static even before his breathing was completely cut off. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Snoke examined the fingers of one hand before locking eyes with Kylo, a snarl contorting his face. “You merely thought yourself in a better position to enact judgment on the situation, as if you have ever displayed that trait before.”

Air returned suddenly and Kylo took a deep breath, sliding to the floor. He just had to hang on a little longer. As of yet, he’d been able to keep your strange connection to himself and he would like it to stay that way. In recent months, Snoke had begun to underestimate him, and in that time, Kylo had become fairly adept at hiding things from his master. 

He didn’t want Snoke to know about that.  
The way your hands felt on his cheeks, your breath in his chest, how calm he felt. 

That was his. 

And he was not eager to find out what Snoke would say if he knew. 

“In any case,” the hologram continued, “if you cannot learn to control your mind, then I can no longer teach you.” 

Kylo swallowed and looked up at the glowing figure with pleading eyes, “I can learn, if you would just tell me how I—”

“SILENCE.”

The word rang out in the chamber, echoing off the vast walls and shaking the ground. Snoke bent forward, speaking through his few teeth, “Until you cease to act so petulantly and take responsibility for your own failures, you will learn nothing more from me.” 

His chest was growing tight again but this time there was no Force constricting his throat. Panic. Fear. Frustration. He wanted to get out. Needed to get out. Even in the cavernous room, the walls were closing in. 

“I refuse to be council to an incompetent child,” Snoke looked down at him with disdain. “Now when you wish to release all that rage on the nearest command center, you can report to her.” 

“She’s weak, should could—”

The rest of his sentence died on his lips as he was knocked flat on his back, helmet trained up at the ceiling.

“Even the weak have something to teach us,” Snoke’s voice reverberated quietly, but it’s scornful edge cut deeply at Kylo’s chest. “You have the potential to be so much more than what you’ve become, Ren. I called to you because there was passion in you—fuel for the darkness.”

There was silence for a moment before Kylo whispered, “What am I supposed to do?” 

“Use it to stoke the fire in your mind,” his master said simply. 

“But how?”

He could hear the crackle and hum as the hologram began to fade, “Observe the girl, learn from her, bed her if you like—but do not fail me again.” 

Kylo felt his face burn as he sat up on his elbows, an empty throne before him. Snoke's last words left an awful taste in his mouth. His left knee throbbed painfully. He knew he should go down to the medical wing, but he couldn’t find it in himself to get up quite yet. The tightness in his chest was more of a dull ache now and the cold durasteel under him was biting at his back—nothing like the calming sensation of your cool skin. 

Everything hurt. 

Everything hurt and he wanted… 

Well he didn’t really know _what_ he wanted, but all he could think about was how soft your hands were. He wished he could feel the comforting chill of them again. 

He closed his eyes and imagined himself floating adrift in viscous darkness, he pictured the trickling, liquid figure before him. His hands reached out and this time, it took them, molding itself against him; enveloping him in it’s gentle waves. 

“Help me…” he murmured into the blackness around him, “please…”

But when he opened his eyes, there was nothing but the cold, unforgiving ceiling and crushing reality all around him.

Kylo Ren had always been playing a very dangerous game for a very long time, but before now, he'd never dragged anyone down with him. He wouldn't describe himself as a man with morals--certainly he had not place to talk--and yet, this felt so very wrong. 

***

A steaming mug sat on the table in front of you. It was tea this time, but Katherine had brewed it strong and dark, so you sipped it anyway. 

She’d been reaming you with questions all evening. 

_How was your trip here?_

_Tell me about the University?_

_What do you think is wrong with the ‘troopers?_

All of which you answered, and thus prompted more questions. Thankfully, you’d ended her interrogation about twenty minutes ago by asking her thoughts on Hux’s performance as the General. 

“He’s a prick with no morals and an ego as bigger than the _Finalizer_ ,” she grumbled taking a bite from her second sweet roll and waving the pastry in your direction. “I keep praying the fires of hell will rise up and drag that ginger nightmare back to where he came from.” 

“You certainly have very strong opinions,” you chuckled, rubbing the back of your neck as a familiar sensation of fingers brushing against it spread along your jaw. 

“Oh I’ve got strong opinions about everythin’,” Katherine gestured with the roll again, “blaster control, mechanization, people who piss in the shower, et cetera…”

The feeling of leather materialized, pressing against a sore spot at the base of your neck. You tried to ignore the twinge, “What about people who piss in the shower?”

“Everyone does it,” she said with a nod, “and if they tell you otherwise, they’re motherfuckin’ liars.” 

You tried to laugh but very suddenly there were warm hands brushing along your skin, locking fingers behind your neck. A faint voice was murmuring in your ear:

_Help me…_

It was deep and horse and barely there. You could almost feel lips forming the words against your throat. 

_Please._

Katherine fixed you with a strange look, “You okay there?”

“Oh yeah,” you rolled your neck and the hands drifted away just as suddenly as they had come. “Did you hear something?”

She looked around and cocked an eyebrow, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Huh, must have been someone in the hall then,” you covered quickly and took a sip of tea. “So, you were telling me about your strong opinions?”

Katherine seemed to let her suspicion go in favor of regaling you once more, and you appreciate it greatly. Although, after another half hour or so, you had to fight to keep your eyes open. It had been a very long day for you, but listening to her dramatic, verbal reenactments was a nice distraction from unpacking any of your new stressors--and you wanted to prolong ignoring them for as long as possible. 

Unfortunately, an hour or so later, a loud series of banging coming from the med bay interrupted Katherine in the middle of telling you how she’d been thrown halfway across across a battlefield by an artillery explosion. 

“What in the hell?” she mumbled, standing from her seat and motioning for you to follow. 

You walked back through the long room of beds and a hall into the exam section. Katherine walked further down, peering into rooms as she passed and pointed down another length of hallway. 

“Would you check down there? Make sure no one’s wanderin’ around.”

You headed towards where she pointed and began looking into the rooms but saw nothing. Then there was another dull thud and the sound of a door sliding open. Then Katherine screaming. 

“Stars! You scared the livin’ shit out o’ me!” she shrieked and you came running back down the hall. 

When you turned the corner, though, you were stopped dead in your tracks. 

Kylo Ren stood, leaning heavily against the wall, black cloak hanging limp around him. Katherine barely came up to his chest as she stood, trying to support his massive frame. She glanced back and called for you. 

“Oh good, come over here and help me,” she huffed. 

His helmet was trained on where you stood just feet away and you could feel his eyes locked on yours. You moved slowly towards him, but the Commander straightened and tried to step away, only for his left leg to buckle at an odd angle. 

You instinctively leaned forward and gripped his hand at the wrist, pulling him back upright. He looked away from you, keeping his helmet angled at the floor. 

“Dear gods, Commander, what have you done to yourself now?” Katherine groaned exasperatedly as she led him towards the nearest exam room, “I swear, two of you in one night…” 

He tried to put weight on his leg again to pull away from your hold, but it twisted once more and Katherine swatted at his arm, “Would you stop that?” 

You sighed and swung his arm up over your shoulder, looping yours above Katherine's at his back. He stiffened, the muscles under your touch tense and hard as durasteel. The dark helmet was still facing resolutely away from you. 

“Come on,” you mumbled as Katherine practically dragged both of you over to the bench and set him down on it. 

He let out a little huff of static, the first sound he’d made since he got here. You crossed the room to stand by the door. 

“Well, are you goin’ to tell me what happened or just sit there with your thumbs up your arse?” Katherine scolded, kneeling down to inspect the unnatural angle of his left knee. 

“I’m your commander, I don’t have to—” he cut off, practically roaring as Katherine pressed a finger to the bend of his leg. 

“Yes, yes, I know,” she mused, prodding a bit more as his fingers nearly tore into the leather of the bench, “but even the Commander can’t just come waltzing in here with his leg nearly torn off without an explanation.”

Kylo Ren remained silent, his eyes flicking up to you and quickly down at the floor, “...fell.” 

“Down an elevator shaft? Likely story.” Katherine stood and gestured vaguely to the counter in the corner and spoke to you over her shoulder, “Grab me a pair o’ shears from the top drawer, would you dear?”

You felt his alarm as you retrieved the metal scissors and placed them in Katherine’s open palm.

“What are you doing?!” He asked, static hissing from his helmet as he tried to move away. 

“My job and I would appreciate it if you’d stop makin' it harder,” she snapped and began slicing through the bottom half of his trousers, “You’d never have been able to get the blood out of these anyway.” 

The fabric landed on the floor with a splat, leaving a dark red stain on the durasteel. His leg was pale from what you could see through the mess. There was a bloody hole where is knee should have been, white bits of shattered bone sticking out in the pool of red. 

“Lord child,” she grimaced and walked over to you, rummaging through the drawers and pulling out a syringe, “I’m going to numb that, and I’ll need you to run two doors down and get me some sanitized towels.”

“Of course,” you moved to leave but stopped, leaning back in, “is there anyone else you want me to call?”

Katherine laughed humorlessly and eased the needle into the mass of flesh on the Commanders knee, “I would if there _was_ anyone else. I gave the rest of the staff a break for the night since shift schedules went to shit while I was gone.” She set the needle down on a tray beside her and glanced at you, “It’s only my team down here now and they’re busy with every other damn patient, so it’s just you and me I’m afraid.” 

“Katherine, I’m not medically trained,” you said incredulously, eyes wide as the Commander finally looked up at you. 

“She can go,” he said quietly, eyes shifting to Katherine. 

“Absolutely not," she said to him, turning her back to you and waving a hand in dismissal, "You’re a doctor aren’t ya? Go on, it's not surgery.” 

“Not that kind of doctor,” you explained but she only waved once more and you sighed before going to retrieve the towels as Katherine continued to grumble in the other room, “You can hush, and take off those ridiculous layers, there’s no way something else isn’t broken too.” 

With a stack of towels in hand, you walked back towards the room, knocking softly on the frame. 

“Oh get in here,” Katherine called, “I won’t have anymore blood on my floor.” 

You stepped inside and glanced at Katherine who was back on her stool, picking loose bits of fabric from the Commander’s wound. He still wore the helmet, but the his cowl and tunic lay discarded on the floor. A plain, black t-shirt stretched across his chest, making him seem even broader. His arms were just as pale as his leg, dotted with freckles like constellations across the milky skin, pulled tight against the definition of his muscle. 

This man could rip you in half. 

You swallowed and watched as his hand, free of the gloves, pick nervously at the edges of the exam bench. They looked far bigger than your entire face. Katherine beckoned you over, grabbing a cloth and dabbing gently at the edges of the ripped skin. 

“Well, I’ve stopped the bleedin’,” she said, dipping on the towels into a bowl of warm water next to her and handing it to you, “try to get the area as clean as you can while I track down some bacta bandages.” 

With that, she stood and marched out, leaving you alone with the Commander. He felt nervous, flinching any time your fingers brushed his skin even after Katherine had numbed it. From this proximity you could see that his fingernails had been bitten down into ragged nubs, the skin around them picked until scabs had formed. 

“You shouldn’t bite your nails,” you muttered softly, “it’s a pretty nasty habit.” 

He kept quiet, but you could feel his eyes on you. The room was so silent, you were fairly sure he wasn’t even breathing. 

“I heard I’m supposed to be working with you now,” you tried again, hoping he would just play along in your tried and true tactic of focusing on professional matters. 

He relinquished a staticy “yes” before falling silent again. You glanced up at him, laying the bloody cloth back on the tray and picking up a fresh one. It took him a moment to meet your eyes. 

“Well, unfortunately that will require a little more verbal communication,” you huffed and went back to cleaning away the blood, “I was hoping you could tell me just what exactly I’m meant to help you with.” 

“You don’t know?” he asked, a hint of surprise behind the static.

“My meeting with Hux was a bit derailed due to some...extenuating circumstances,” you gave him a pointed look and he glanced down at the floor. 

It struck you that he looked a bit like a kicked puppy. The thought made you smile faintly and earned you a glare from Kylo Ren. He huffed and you peered at him curiously, “Could you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Katherine asked as she trotted back into the room and plopped into the stool. She unraveled the roll of bandages and began to wrap them around the wound. 

“Nothing,” you said, eyes never leaving the Commanders. 

He shifted uncomfortably as Katherine fixed the bandages in place and stood, gesturing to his torso. 

“Alright, lift your shirt,” she said.

You had to stifle a laugh at her bluntness and the shocked embarrassment emanating from the Commander.

“What?!” he objected but you got the feeling it was futile against Katherine’s determination. 

“Oh yes, I need to check for any bruising,” she said, hands on her hips, “And you can take that helmet off while you’re at it. I want to make sure you didn’t catch that one’s concussion.” 

She pointed sharply back in your direction and Kylo Ren glanced between the two of you, shoulders slumping in defeat as he raised his hands to the air locks on either side of the mask. There was a low hiss as they released, and he lifted it from his head, setting it down on the table beside him.

You kept your eyes on the floor, as Katherine moved in, hiking his shirt up unceremoniously and inspecting the skin of his chest. You'd spent most of your time here coaxing 'troopers out their own helmets, but something about this made it feel like an invasion of privacy--disrespectful in a way. You only glanced up when Katherine called your name softly. 

“Come hold this up for me, dear,” she called, holding the edge of the Commanders shirt in her hand. 

Walking slowly over, you took it in your hand as Katherine prodded a rather large and nasty looking bruise on his side. 

Black waves of hair were plastered to his head with sweat, and he ran his hand through it, revealing the rest of his face. 

It was strange. 

You’d thought it would be shocking to find out what Kylo Ren looked like. But as you gazed down at his face, with its prominent, Roman nose, full lips, and strong jaw, you felt as though you’d seen it a thousand times. The same freckle constellations covered his face as well, making him look even younger than he already did. His deep brown eyes flicked up at you, before looking quickly away when he noticed you staring. A faint, pink flush crept up his cheeks and dusted the tips of his large ears that stuck out form his head. 

So you were right about him after all. 

He was far less intimidating without the mask—softer around the edges with his boyish features and wide eyes. 

“Well, you’ve managed to break your fifth and sixth ribs,” Katherine sighed and stepped back, grabbing another roll of bandages, “Luckily, it doesn’t look like you’ve punctured anything, but if you did, the bacta should take care of it.” 

Once she was done wrapping his chest, you let him fix his shirt and took a step back, leaning against the wall. Another wave of exhaustion was rolling over you, as you let your head rest on the durasteel and half closed your eyes. 

Katherine pulled a pen light from her lab coat and flashed it between his eyes, “Do you have any pain in your head or neck?” 

“No,” he mumbled, but winced at the light. His voice was softer too without the helmet, a pleasant baritone instead of a static growl.

“Sure you don’t,” Katherine clicked it off and straightened up, “at least that’s an easy enough fix.” 

She hustled out of the room again, and you felt the Commander’s gaze curiously studying you. After a moment, you pried your eyes open and stared back. He managed not to look away this time. 

“You look awful,” he said matter of factly.

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, glaring halfheartedly at him “I wonder why.”

He grimaced and glanced to the side, rubbing the back of his neck, “You should go—” 

“Alrighty then,” Katherine hummed as she reentered, placing the same patches she’d given you down on the bench next to him. “And for once, the Commander’s right, you ought to head off to bed, love.” 

She fixed you with a stern look as you pushed yourself off the wall, and straightened your blazer, “I have a few more files to get through tonight,” you yawned and headed towards the door. 

“Absolutely not!” Katherine called, “You can do that in the mornin'.” 

You smiled at her and shifted your gaze to the Commander as he pushed aside his shaggy hair for Katherine to place the patches on his neck. 

“Commander, would you stop by my office sometime tomorrow?”

He swallowed thickly but nodded, “When?” 

“I don’t have any patients until the afternoon,” you mused, “so 0800 hours?”

You watched him look back up at you and nod as Katherine placed the last patch just below his ear. 

“Oh yes, he’ll be just fine by then,” she fussed, making a shooing motion at you, “Now off you get.” 

With one last glance, you walked back out through the twisting med bay and into the main corridor, the sound of your heels against the durasteel echoing as you went.

***

Kylo Ren was meditating. 

Or at least trying to, as he lay in the uncomfortably small bed surrounded by the sterile atmosphere of the med bay. Murdock had ordered him to stay the night for observation. He would have snuck out hours ago, but his left leg was still too ruined to walk, and he didn't fancy dragging himself all the way to his quarters. So he was meditating. Which seemed to only consist of fighting off his insistent feelings of guilt and embarrassment. 

And occasionally, thinking about you. 

He hadn't been prepared for a run in again so soon after what happened before, and he certainly hadn't wanted you to see him like _this_. You must have thought he looked pitiful, covered blood and bruises. But, he supposed it was a miracle you _looked_ at all. Honestly, it was probably a miracle you hadn't run from the room immediately upon seeing him. 

He almost wished you did. 

It would have been better than dealing with the shame. Frustration bubbled up from the depths of his mind as he thought about his master's words. _Even the weak have something to teach us_. Kylo huffed out a laugh, and tried to turn on his side, but the broken ribs were still a bit tender. He was reminded of how you'd held him up with no hesitation at all. You were so small pressed to his side, barely reaching his shoulders. He could easily have crushed you with one wrong step, but you were still so gentle, careful not to pull or jostle the bruises lining his torso. 

He thought of how you'd looked away when he'd removed his mask. And even when you did meet his eyes, there was no shock, no snide comments. Stars, he must have looked terrible. When was the last time he'd washed his hair? Too long ago, most likely. But you always seemed so put together in your suits and heels and your hair always pinned so neatly. Oh gods...he'd said you look awful. 

Kylo groaned and burried his head in his hands. You didn't make any sense to him, but he seemed to be an open book for you. 

Maybe he should skip the meeting tomorrow altogether, but then you'd likely just come chasing him down like you did Hux and something told him he probably couldn't out run you. Even in those shoes. He thought of Snoke angrily and rolled over on his uninjured side. Kylo was sure you were good at whatever strange doctor but not a doctor things you did, but he heavily doubted you knew anything that would be of use to him. 

With a sigh, he closed his eyes and gave up on trying to meditated, letting himself drift off. His mind began to wander and he thought of how tired you had been just a few hours ago. He hoped idly that you were sleeping too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's very late again and also a bit on the shorter side, but I have been doing a lot of work drafting this story and I promise (despite the fact that I can't stay on any schedule) that this fic is still in the works and will not go on hiatus. Anyway, I've given you a fun doctor character to balance out the sad and there are more interactions with the reader and Kylo coming soon. Once again, thank you so much for sticking with this story, your comments are intensely motivating and I'm glad you're all enjoying it so far!


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